Coeur de la Mort: Heart of Death
by clam theif
Summary: Her father had a debt to settle, but a life worth living. He traded his daughter to the Dutchman in exchange, the last place a woman is accepted. She fought for acceptance, and won the battle, but lost herself to the sea.[DJxOC, JNxOC NO FLAMES!]
1. Sailing

She was a young woman, of perhaps twenty-three, the youngest member of a noble family on the island of Martinique. She enjoyed watching the men dock in the harbor, sailors running back and forth, carrying cargo. Often, she dreamed of going out on one of those ships and witnessing the ocean, but it was a curse for women to aboard ships. Women and cats were never permitted to be upon a ship. She would then never know what it was like for someone such as herself to sail the ocean. Having had lived on Martinique from birth, she had never once set foot in her homeland of France. She hoped she would be able to do so one day.

Lazily she rested her head upon the railing of her balcony, and watched out into the harbor. A ship was just getting ready to set sail, it was sunset, a decent time to leave, she thought. She felt stupid. She loved ships but knew next to nothing about them. For a woman of her class to learn about ships was blasphemy.

Her thoughts of ships and sailing went interrupted by the calls of her father. She sighed, almost happily to have her mind distracted, and entered her home, descending the staircase to see her father. He was a rather slender man for someone of noble blood, with his powdered wig, rouged cheeks and neatly trimmed, almost pointed mustache. She greeted him in her native French language, as he kissed her lightly on both cheeks. He began to talk to her sweetly and cheerfully about finding a husband. She was closing past marrying age. Her cheeriness befell her, recalling that every man who had courted her never truly made her happy. In fact, she was miserable most of the time. She told her father that she was awaiting someone, and at this point, as long as they were kind to her, she could care less if they were of another language, color or even social standing. Even a pirate. Her father understood up to the word 'pirate' and began to scold his daughter for thinking like such. She apologized as her father explained that there was a captain in the British navy would might be interested. She smiled, thinking of how exciting it would be to have a British husband. This could mean that she might finally be able to sail.

She thanked her father, who announced that the young gentleman's name was James and he would be arriving that night to meet her. The French girl's heart was filled with joy, especially on the account she might even get to sail that night. She couldn't express what she was more excited over, discovering a British gentleman in the Navy was interested in her, or that she had the prospects of going sailing.

Servants seemed to storm around her as she entered her room again. She needed to be perfectly spotless, redressed and all such similar things, before this young man came to visit her. Her hair was yanked in several directions as it was being combed and washed after she had been forced into her washroom, and being forced out of her clothing and into a tub of nearly scalding hot water. Her father was obviously preparing she meet this man regardless of if she had agreed or not. Out of the tub, into under garments and a corset. She despised corsets. She could never breath in them and they pinched at her waist. She squeaked a bit as the cords were yanked tightly around her, and a dress was brought on her as well. They didn't have to work this fast, this man wasn't due for several hours.

She peered out of her balcony window again, noticing an unfamiliar ship at port, not just that, but a carriage approaching her house. She looked around the room, searching if there was anything that might be necessary for this meeting, but before she could react, she had a few of her servants hurry her out of the room.

Cautiously, she descended her stairs, seeing, and hearing her father, and who was probably this young man James, standing in the entrance hall of their house, speaking in the English language. She knew a bit of English, but not enough. It hadn't even occurred to her that she would have to speak English.

She listened intently to the words they were speaking, hoping there would be something she would understand. The British gentleman had a smooth, eloquent voice which sounded almost like a breeze.

"Mr. Norrington." Her father said, indicating a hand towards her, helping her with the last few steps. "This is my daughter Michelle Cecile. She doesn't understand much English, but, I know you have a talent for languages, so if she does not understand you, try approaching her in another language. Her head isn't capable of more than one language and a few words in another."

She heard those words. Her English wasn't the best, but she could understand the words her father had just used to insult her. Of course she knew he was doing it as a joke, but it was slightly offensive towards her. Her expression towards her father was sour, and he seemed to get the hint that it was time to stop joking with his daughter.

Her father smiled and insisted he leave the two alone. Mr. James Norrington was a bit older than her, not by much to her standards, perhaps ten years at most.

"My apologies," Mr. Norrington said once Michelle's father was out of sight. "My French isn't exactly up to par, either." He smiled to her, took her hand and kissed it lightly, as was polite.

Michelle smiled as well, and used a handful of the English she knew. "I can speak" she said, searching for the next few words. "A _little_ English. I know more than my father gives me…_credit_ for."

Mr. Norrington laughed, took her hand and brought her out to town for a simple evening of carriage rides. But alas, not a single ship ride. When she asked, he just smiled and said "Perhaps if I bring your back to Port Royal, you'll be able to ride them all the time."

The two of them walked along the harbor, it was the second time Michelle had ever been there, and she loved the essence of the ships. Mr. Norrington had learned to discover quickly that Michelle dreamed of sailing, even thought it was unladylike. As they walked along, in the dark, almost starless night, Michelle found herself staring at one ship, which was almost a blip on the horizon. It was an unmoving ship, but the water around it was churning. She pointed at it, to notify Mr. Norrington, who stared at the ship momentarily.

"What is that?" he asked her. Michelle was at a loss. She had seen many things on the harbor before, but never something like that. The water was churning faster, and in a matter of seconds, water sprayed up into the air and the ship was gone. Mr. Norrington was as well, at a loss. "It must be an illusion with the light…" he said, dumbfounded. "Just ignore it…" he froze as, at nearly the same spot, a giant ship came roaring out from the depths of the sea. Though he was a British Naval officer, he could do nothing about it. However, it was fortunate that the men at the harbor had been watching as well, and were already preparing themselves.

Someone shouted that all civilians get off the docks and head to shelter. Mr. Norrington looked at Michelle. "You heard them, you have been ordered to leave the harbor." His tone was dark and menacing. Michelle was hesitant. "I will stay here to see if I can be of assistance." She understood and ran off, heading for home, knowing she wouldn't last long running in these shoes and a corset.

She was nearing the beach which was obviously not a safe place to be at the time. If this ship had rowboats, they'd be on this shore in no time. But this was the best place to lose her shoes and corset if she was going to run home. She reached down the back of her dress and tried loosening the cords, but they were too tight, so she left the corset, and just left her shoes on the shore, as she began to run.

But in just about two steps, she was stopped, a knife to her smooth throat. She was able to see that no ships had landed. It must have been a local. However, she noticed the hand holding the knife wasn't human. It was scaly, rough and wet. The blade started to pierce the skin of her throat. "Where do you think you're runnin' off ta, missy?" her attacker asked. More of these deformed looking men were surrounding her. All aquatic, holding the characteristics of sea-life, some with shark's heads, some eels, some coral, but all frightening. "Whad'ya think, boys?" her attacker, a man with the head of a hammer-head shark, asked. "Ye think the Cap'n'll like 'er?"

The other men shouted in agreement. These men were pirates. She began to scream, alerting people of the pirates. The man who was holding the knife to her throat tore off a chunk of her dress and shoved it in her mouth, and lifted her from the ground, laughing and saying "They won't hear yer screamin' here, they won't hear yer screamin' where yer goin' either."

She was brought to the same ship that had risen from the waters. It was a grimy ship, coated in sea life, but at the same time, it was sad and depressing, the sound of an organ being played. "Welcome home." One of the men said, laughing, as they shoved her down a stair-case into a room, where the organ was being played, the door slamming behind her.

Her hands had been bound, and her feet shackled. There was a man at the organ, tall, broad and gruesome looking, and this was from behind. He wasn't human, just like the rest of the crew. He turned, looking at her. Michelle felt a lump in her throat, as the man continued to play fiercely. "'O are ye?" he asked gruffly.

She didn't understand. It wasn't proper English, and she knew so little of it, she opted to silence.

The man was even more aquatic than the crew, with tentacles hanging from his face, instead of a beard. His skin was the color of seaweed and algae, and despite his hideous appearance, he seemed sadly distressed.

"I said _who are you_." He snapped, properly pronouncing things for the girl to understand.

She ignored his hateful glare. "M-michelle B-belard." She muttered. The man rose from the organ, and stomped over to her, with one normal leg, and a peg leg that was similar to that of a crab.

"Tha's more like it." He said, opening a hand that was a crab's claw, and using it to hold up her face to look at him. He turned her head from side to side, examining her. "Yer family 'ave money?" he asked.

Michelle thought a moment as she tried to understand what he said. "I-I s-suppose…" she said.

"Age?" he asked.

She didn't know her age in English. "Vingt-trois." She said.

"And tha' is?" the man asked.

"Je ne sais pas mon age en Anglais." She said in French.

"Ah, so ye don' know English, do ye?" he asked.

"Un peu…" she muttered.

The Captain smiled and laughed. "I could 'ave some fun with ye, yet!" he laughed. Michelle felt the lump in her throat get larger.

"C-can I go home?" she asked in rough English. The Captain's expression appeared confused.

"_Home?" _ he asked, started to laugh like a maniac. "One does not just go _home_ after boarding the _Flying Dutchman_!"

Michelle stared at him with unease, her breathing ragged. She had always thought that the _Flying Dutchman_ was a myth.

"Ye seemed surprised." The Captain laughed. He clapped a hand on her shoulder, this hand looking normal compared to the other, just with one finger being a tentacle. "And on my ship, everyone answers to Davy Jones." He snorted. He turned from Michelle, heading back to the organ, and playing once more.

It was easy for Michelle to guess that this cruel-hearted man, was none-other, than the Davy Jones of myths.


	2. A lifetime of servitude

Okay, so, I thought I should let people know this. I KNOW it is popular for Davy Jones to have hostages, and for him to fall in love with them. Note: He does NOT fall in love in my story. I'm attempting to make my character NOT a Mary-Sue. I'm well known on here and dA to write stories with clichéd plots, and make them interesting. Look at my Kingdom Hearts stories, I took the most clichéd self-insert based storyline and it has about 20000 hits on it, and I have people constantly telling me how awesome of a job it is. So, here's my new challenge: Pirates of the Caribbean. Hell, I've seen the 2nd at LEAST 100 times, and I've seen the third 4 times, and going to see it one more time this weekend. I'm a POTC theorist, and I'm using some of my theories started based on POTC3, to work on this. So please, if my character starts out as a Mary-Sue: Relax; it's called character development. Believe me, the story will work itself out. --Anna

Ch 2

Michelle was situated in the back of the room, seated on the cold, grimy floor, knowing it was absolutely disgusting. She had never been told to leave, or let alone, where to go, or what to do. She wished she could just enjoy listening to this fearsome captain playing music.

But the music was far too somber for her to enjoy. Just from the sound of the music, she could tell that Davy Jones was not a warm-hearted person…If he was even a person at all. By the way he pounded on the organ, it seemed that if she even moved, it would have disrupted him and caused for her to be sent off over the edge. She knew the ship was at sail, but how would she be able to enjoy it without the reassurance that she would return home?

The music ceased suddenly, the pirate rose from his bench, the tentacles attacked to his face slapped against each other with a sickeningly squelching noise. "You." He snapped, pointing at Michelle. "What are ye still doin' in here?"

She thought a moment, letting the English words run through her head. "You never told me to leave." She muttered, hoping she was responding properly.

Davy Jones had an expression of fury on his face, which turned to a laugh. Michelle felt a little awkward, so she laughed softly, smiling, as not to upset him. "Ye know 'ow ta handle yerself in the presence of a pirate." He said. "Good lass." Michelle flashed a small grin, but it was stopped by the stinging of her flesh as the pirate struck her across the face, a long scratch being produced. "Now get out!" he roared, yanking Michelle to her feet, and throwing open the door, and pushing her out on the deck.

The door slammed behind her, as she found herself upon a soaked deck with countless crew members working, fighting, the typical things expected from pirates. Where was she to go? There was nowhere for her.

"You!" someone shouted, as various pirates pushed past her. "Come in here, quickly!" Someone grasped her arm and yanked her in through a single, barely hinged door.

The room was dark, and she couldn't tell who had grabbed her and pulled her into the room. There was the flicker of fire, and a candle was lit, illuminating their face. It was a young girl, perhaps a few years older than her, with dark, wavy hair, braided back, and a long, dark red dress with countless tears in the fabric. "You must never leave this room, unless summoned." She said darkly. "The crew is violent, and they would rape you on a moments notice."

Michelle understood the basics of what she had said, and nodded slowly. "I do not know much English." She muttered.

The girl swore. "Hell, what language then?"

"French."

The dark haired girl nodded, and examined Michelle's face as she spoke in French. "Stay in this room." She said to Michelle in her own language. "You'll be safe here." There was a paused. "At least most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Michelle asked, as the girl pulled out a strip of fabric, and spat on it, to clean the scratch Jones had left on her.

"He likes to have his way with girls when he gets the urge." She hissed. "I'm the only girl left, but now you're here, I may get to leave." Michelle cringed as she felt the girl place the spit coated fabric on her face. "Lighten up," the girl snapped. "Spit's the cleanest thing on this ship."

"It's disgusting." Michelle groaned, wiping the spit from his face. "This whole place is disgusting."

The girl snorted. "Get used to it." She growled. "It'll get worse. It's been like this for ten years." Michelle stared at her, but with the sound of thumping directly overhead, the other girl blew out the candle. "Quiet, he's coming." She whispered.

"How can you tell?" Michelle asked. Before she could get a response, the door slammed open.

There stood the Captain, just as gruesome as before, the sea coated tentacle beard against his chest, moving as if each tentacle had a mind of its own. He looked at the other girl, who had bowed as if Jones were a King. Michelle stared at him, appalled at the thought of this man being a king. Jones waved a large, clawed hand at the other girl. "Anita, be gone with you." He snorted, as the girl rose, nodded and ran off to the deck and began to help in the securing of the ship.

Fear began to rise through Michelle again, someone had tried to help her, and they had left, and once again, she felt vulnerable. She nodded her head slowly to the Captain, starting to assume that treating him as a King was enough to protect her.

"Come with me." The pirate demanded as he turned from the doorway, and headed towards a small flight of stairs to the upper deck. "Now." He snapped, as he noticed Michelle was not following. She took in a sharp breath and followed the pirate hastily. "What was yer name again?" he asked.

"M-Michelle B-" she was interrupted.

"I don't need yer surname, lass." He insisted as he opened the doors to the organ room where he had been playing when she arrived. Surprisingly, he held the door open for Michelle, allowing her to pass into the room. "Take a seat." He said, darkly, motioning towards the bench near the organ.

Michelle spoke to him softly in French, asking if he was going to hurt her. The pirate laughed.

"Yeh see, lass." He said darkly, approaching the organ. "I won't hurt ye, as long as ye do as I say." Michelle was now sitting on the bench, her hands folded in her lap. She was a hostage, there was no way around it. The pirate was now in front of her.

Jones crouched down, seeming to have conjured a pipe and match, and lit the contents inside. "I'm givin' ye the opportunity to sail upon the _Flying Dutchman_, the most feared ship in all th' seas, and ye'll be free as a bird, as long as ye do my biddin' when needed."

Michelle quickly searched her brain for the proper dialog. "What if I refuse?" she asked.

Jones laughed. "Then I'll be killin' yeh, and forcin' ye as crew upon my ship." He inhaled from his pipe and exhaled the smoke right into her face. Michelle coughed from the putrid smell.

"What do you want?" Michelle asked. "My father has a high position in the French government and I can assure you, he could pay you whatever you wish for my return." Jones continued laughing.

"Ye don't seem to understand the offer I'm givin' ye." He hissed. "Ye have the chance ta stay aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ with not but a single string attached, that will be revealed in due time, or ye die, an' ye serve a minimum of ten years before me, as crew, and undergo th' same treatment the men aboard this ship receive."

She let the words rattle about in her brain. "What makes you think I would accept either offer?" she asked.

Jones laughed, as a single tentacle rose from his beard and ran along Michelle's cheek, a shiver, a chill more likely ran through her body. "My crew 'as been watchin' ye." He said, giving off the feeling the pirate was a stalker. "An' I hear ye've been wantin' freedom. Ta escape that wretched speck of land ye've 'ad to call home." The man smiled, and held out his right hand, which was seemingly normal, aside from one finger being a long tentacle, which was wrapping around his wrist. "An' as I say ta the crew, I can offer you an escape."

She stared at his hand. "And what is it that you get from the deal?" she asked sourly.

"What every man wants." He chuckled, the tentacles on his face slapping together, the one that had reached out to her, running along her cheek again. "The touch of a woman."

Michelle grimaced and yanked away from the pirate's tentacle. "And what makes you think I would accept?" she snapped in French. Jones seemed to find every remark Michelle conjured humorous. She wondered if this time it was just because he didn't understand French.

"Yeh see, girl," Jones whispered in Michelle's ear, sending a sickeningly warm breath around her neck. "I get what I want from th' crew 'ere, and either way, I will get what I want from you." Swiftly, there was a pinching around Michelle's neck, as the giant claw of his hand closed on her flesh. "An' yeh will do as I say on this ship."

Michelle struggled a bit, but felt her skin being torn at. "Then what are my benefits?" she asked sternly.

Jones chuckled in her ear, and she could feel him smiling. "Everything, lass." he said. "Freedom, no pain, protection…" he paused, removing the claw from around Michelle's neck, and running one of his tentacles along her neck's flesh. "And most importantly…" he continued, dropping the tentacle to her upper chest, almost pushing away the fabric of her dress. "Immortality."

Michelle yanked from him, and rose from the organ's bench and began to back away from him. "Do not touch me." She shouted at him, covering the bare flesh that her dress naturally exposed, with her arms. "If you were a man of any decency, you would know that your ways of approach are in error."

Jones laughed, and stomped up to her, limping on a peg leg that resembled the leg of a crab, as he stood before her. "What made yeh think I was a man of _decency_?" Michelle looked away from him ignoring what he said. She found herself surprised how she was able to find the vocabulary in English, even though she was intensely frightened. "I'm a bloody pirate, lass, an' pirates, toss decency ta th' wind." He smiled at her, with yellowing teeth. "An' once ye go pirate, ye never go lookin' fer that decency again."

Michelle snorted and spoke to him in French. "Perhaps, if you were a decent man, and at least knew that a woman is _not_ something a man can just put her hands…" she paused. "Or tentacles in this case, all over someone, the maybe I would agree to your offer of freedom, painlessness, protection and immortality." She looked at Jones from the corner of her eye. "Because, if this is the kind of man I'm forced to be near for eternity, I'd rather take a thousand excruciating deaths time, after time over this."


	3. A Man of Decency

There's something at the end of this, you WILL get the relevance of it later. Her English IS improving. Anita will be explained shortly. But like I said, don't flame me for the end of this, there is relevance coming up. Also, I have the first five chapters of this done, that's why it's three chapters the day I published this. –Anna

Ch. 3

A single week felt like an eternity. Michelle who was usually constant in keeping her pristine appearance spotless, found it near impossible to even wash her hands. She had sworn to Jones that she wouldn't accept his offer until she could see if the man could treat her properly, like any man would treat a woman. It was as if her current time on the ship was a trial period. If she interfered with the crew, she would be easily attacked, for being such a small girl.

The elegant dress she had worn the night she was kidnapped, was torn and tattered from the grime of the sea, the various fights she found herself in the middle of, or the basis of. There was such a complication in trying to stay safe.

When away from the Captain, who demanded having her nearby practically every spare moment she had, she remained in that room beneath the stairs with the girl Anita. She was a strange girl, violent, mysterious and all together peculiar. Her hair was always in many braids, or cascading in one long one, down her back, with her hand running over her shoulders. From the look of the girl, she was Creole, but she had not a single drop of Creole blood in her. She was in fact from Southern Spain, and had actually gotten mixed up in a slave trade towards the Americas. She was granted freedom practically immediately, because of her Spanish heritage, and spent her life among the Creoles in New Orleans. Michelle often saw Anita practicing with strange little artifacts, and the moment she began to ask what she was doing, she'd either be summoned by Jones or yelled at by the Spaniard.

Michelle was scared of practically everything that moved aboard this ship, and desired to go home. The only person she felt she could trust was Anita, who seemed to not trust her. Even so, Anita was the only one who knew how to ease the pain from the lashes upon Michelle's back.

Within her first night upon the ship, there was a storm. Not realizing that pirates didn't simply wait for the storm to pass, Michelle ventured out from her _shelter_ and found herself interrupting crucial work. Two men quickly grabbed her by the arms, and held her body against the mast. She feared that she was about to be raped, once they tore open the back of her dress. One of the men shouted something obscene to her, and in a matter of seconds, the stinging of wet leather against wet flesh struck her body. The men laughed, speaking of if women should have more of the proper treatment, they lashed her bare back ten times, at least.

Proper treatment was not beating a poor girl, who was naïve in the ways of piracy, especially those ways of Davy Jones' crew.

If this was any way of Jones showing his decency by ignoring her cries of pain and her screams of fear in the night, then he was doing a poor job of it all. He laughed at her stories of her shredded back, and ignored her complaints, finding pure amusement in everything she complained over.

"What were ye expectin'?" he asked her one night, as he barged in on Anita while she was examining the wounds on Michelle's back. "A man who can change on a whim?" He pointed his clawed hand at Anita and insisted she leave. She nodded quickly and vanished, muttering something in Spanish to the pirate before leaving.

Michelle did not respond, but she looked at the pirate with unease, wishing Anita could have at least closed up the back of her dress. "Could you _try_?" she asked, her French accent overpowering the word try.

"Turn around." The pirate insisted, having had glimpsed Michelle's bare back. Hesitantly, she complied and turned, showing him the large gashes the boson had left on her back after she had interrupted the crew's work. Jones made a tsk of disapproval. "There'll be hell ta pay then." He snorted. "I demaned they treat ye as if ye were part of the crew, an' not a captive." He extended a tentacle and ran it over the slices on her back. It stung Michelle a bit, but she held her pain to herself. Jones ran his tentacle over each individual slice, counting them. "Fourteen, I said, _five_!" he roared, seeming to spit sea water on to Michelle's back. He turned from the girl, and barged out on to the deck, his shout of annoyance having already alerted everyone.

Quietly, Michelle came out from the room, still standing in the doorway. Anita had seemed to manifest at her side. "What did you say to him?" she asked darkly. Michelle shook her head.

"N-nothing." She muttered.

Jones roared loudly, causing the crew to gather nearby, stomped over to Michelle and brought her up before everyone, and making them all view her back. "'O did this ta 'er!" he shouted. "I said tha' if she needed ta be lashed, it was to be _five_ at most!" He had his clawed hand loosely on Michelle's soldier, while his other was lightly running along her neck, chilling her to the bone. "Wha' did she do ta deserve this, anyways!"

"She interrupted our duties." Someone chimed in.

"She crashed into a few of us durin' tha' storm!" another crewman added.

"She threw us off track!"

"Did she now?" Jones asked, approaching one of them, and enclosing his claw around his neck. "An' it takes jus' the presence of a woman ta throw th' lot o' ye off track? Are all o' ye, jus' that easily distracted?" Surprisingly, gently, he pushed Michelle aside. "Now which one o' yeh lashed th' girl! An' if none o' ye speak up, it's twenty lashes to each o' yeh!"

Anita looked at Michelle from the corner of her eyes. "What have you done to him?" she growled. Michelle shook her head quickly, unsure.

Jones snatched a whip from one of the bosons and cracked it against the ground, still yelling at the crew. "Th' girl will not be 'armed by any o' yeh, from this moment on! Anyone found doing so, will be sent ta th' locker!" The Captain advanced a bit, passing his eyes over the crew, setting his gaze on the very man who had whipped Michelle. The crowd split, allowing Jones through. Surround men around the boson held him still, as Jones raised the whip and cracked it against the man's back.

But before Michelle could see his flesh tear, Anita brought her back into the small room, lighting a candle.

"What did you say to him?" Anita asked shrewdly.

Michelle shook her head. "I said 'Could you try.'"

"Try what?" Anita asked.

Michelle looked away from the girl. "Try being a bit…more…polite, I guess." She muttered. Anita rolled her eyes.

"Davy Jones does not _know_ polite!" Anita hissed, balling up a fist. She looked entirely disgusted in Michelle. "If I didn't know he would have me killed for striking you, I would gladly do so right now."

The sound of Jones was outside the door, and it opened, crashing into the frame of the ship, and he motioned a hand to Michelle. "Come with me." He ordered, yanking his head to define that he meant then.

Jones kept her close as they walked along the archaic deck, coated in various life of the sea, barnacles, oysters, anemones, all which noticed Jones coming and hid within themselves. The crew laughed as Jones walked past, with Michelle not even nearing his shoulders.

"Excu—" she began, but Jones silenced her, as one of his tentacles reached over and shoved itself in her mouth. Michelle shivered a bit, and found it rather disgusting and she choked slightly, but refrained from doing so, as Jones opened the door for them to enter the organ room, he removed his tentacle from her mouth. "Wh-what was that f-for!" Michelle shouted, finding her cheeks red with fury and embarrassment.

Jones was still walking and he took a seat at the organ. "Was that not enough fer tryin'?" he asked, as he began to play the organ, somberly. "Defendin' ye wasn' enough?"

Michelle approached him. "N-no." she said. "You tried. T-thank you." Jones turned at her, and snorted through a sliced off tentacle.

"Then what would I have ta do ta be doin' more than jus' tryin'?" he asked. Michelle found herself standing behind him. She felt a surge within herself as she noticed the saddened expression on the captain, it was a surge of sympathy, where she almost understood him. But she would never understand this man, and what made him this creature. Gently, she raised her hand and placed it on his shoulder, the rough edges of the barnacles on her palms as well as the water, which his clothing had absorbed.

"I don't know." Michelle whispered, as she thought of the old sailor's myths she had heard when she was younger. "They say there was a woman you fell in love with," she continued, slightly fearful for if he would strike her for speaking of the myth. "Treat me how you treated her. A true gentleman treats a woman like gold, and if you are the same as they say you are in stories, then you know that how you cared for _her_ is how a man must treat any woman, whether he loves her or not."

Jones too, felt a strange pain within his lack of a heart. He had had his crew violently kidnap this young girl, and somehow, she was sympathizing with him. He reached up on the organ, and held a small, heart shaped locket, and opened it, as the light chiming of music drifted out of it. It was sweet, but heartbreaking. Jones sighed, and listened to the melody.

"Treat ye, like I treated her?" he asked, as one of his tentacles reached up and stroked the back of Michelle's hand. "But what if I say, that I was cruel to her?"

"You don't seem the type to intentionally be cruel to a woman." She said, removing her hand from his shoulder. "But I don't know about you. You are a pure stranger to me, and I don't find myself able to trust you yet. It may take a long time for me to ever find you as a trustworthy man." The music from the locket ceased, as Jones closed it. "You are a pirate after all."

Jones rose from the bench and limped over to the French girl, and grasped her neck with his hand. "So, because I'm a pirate, instantly means that I'm an untrustworthy cur?" he snapped.

"No." Michelle said calmly. "You are untrustworthy because you have kidnapped me." She held her head high, as Jones held her neck stiffly. "Once I witness you treating me like you are a true gentleman, I will be able to trust you."

Jones looked at her, almost in disgust with her words. "Ye wan' me ta be a gentleman, do ye?" he asked sharply. Michelle began to respond, but the pirate yanked his clawed arm back, pulling Michelle up against him. She stared up to him, hoping this wasn't going to lead to what she feared, which was rape. Instead, the pirate leaded in, and placed a lipless mouth upon her lips, releasing his claw from her neck, as he pulled from her.

Michelle's hands were placed tightly upon her chest, having no idea why she hadn't struggled away from him. She tried to speak, but instead, she found her mouth dry and unmoving.

Jones, walked away from her, and sat at his organ bench, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "Ye tol' me, ta treat yeh, like I treated her, an' so, I did."


	4. Captain Chevalle

Oh-ho-ho! We start learning things about Anita! And why Michelle is REALLY on the ship! I've been asked this, but this is PRE-Curse of the Black Pearl, it's one year or so earlier, and there's a bit of time before the encounters of Jack Sparrow. There will be an early cameo by him in one scene before the actual events of DMC. I've gotten some very nice reviews, and I'm happy about that! Thank you everyone!

Ch. 4.

Jones laughed at Michelle's comment afterwards, which was on how he could never be a worthy gentleman with such forward confrontations to young women. "I think I should tell yeh why I ever allowed a girl like ye upon my ship." He commented.

"I'd rather not hear that, thank you." She replied swiftly. "In fact, as soon as land is in sight, you may just toss me overboard if you wish."

Jones glanced at her chuckling. "See, I can' jus' let ye off." He replied. "Yer father's got a debt to settle." Michelle laughed.

"My father, have a debt to settle? With _you_?" She found herself highly amused. "I'm sorry, but my father has a high standing in the French government, and has absolutely nothing to do with pirates."

Jones snorted, highly entertained. "Ye don' seem to know yer father as well as ye thought ye did, then, do ye?" Michelle stared at him strangely. "Yer father's a dirty scoundrel of a pirate, an' you'll no doubt, follow in 'is footsteps."

Michelle turned from him. "The only scoundrel in this conversation is you, _sir_." She growled. "And I want to know why I should think otherwise."

Land passed them countless times, and not once did it appear Jones was going to let her off. Though the outlook of things appeared bleak, the French girl decided she might want to take things into her own hands. Over a month had passed, and the girl managed to pass through the crew without being harmed, thanks to the fear that had sparked within the crew, from the threat from Jones.

Michelle had always been a bit more outgoing than the other girls in Martinique, and perhaps it was one of the reasons why she had difficulties getting married. Most men didn't want to waste their time on a girl who'd rather be sailing than bearing children. She had always been the type to speak back if she was offended. Having had grown up with only an older sister who died after marrying and giving birth, and mostly brothers, she had learned to fight back. Of course, she never showed it to her father, knowing he would disapprove. Only her brothers and a scarce few men and women saw her more rambunctious side. She loved her excuse to her hidden personality. Flat out, it was because she was French. She laughed in the face of those who said otherwise. Martinique was a small island, and most of the men were off sailing, nearly constantly. So, her, along with many of the women, were privately taught how to use swords, pistols, and fight off men, who were obviously considerably stronger than the women of the French colony.

Michelle was seated with Anita in the little room beneath the stairs, wringing out the bottom of her dress, debating on asking Anita if there was an easier option than wearing a dress everywhere. The girl however, seemed to be in a trace, with a single candle remaining lit, the others having been put out by droplets of water throughout the sort of ritual.

"A-Anita?" Michelle asked, knowing that her English had improved much quicker than expected. The Spaniard glanced at Michelle with a dark expression. It was obvious that Anita wasn't too fond of Michelle.

"What?" she snapped, relighting the other candles. "If it's unimportant, then shut up and let me finish."

"I'm just curious about something?" she said. "About the Captain." Anita snorted in amusement.

"Ask away, but trust me, if you want to know _why_ he acts the way he does, don't bother. None of us know that." Anita was constantly in a foul mood, practically everything she said was nasty.

"I just want to know, but does he ever say things that aren't true?" she asked meekly. Anita laughed.

"What cur on this ship _doesn't_?" she chuckled. "B'lieve me, Davy Jones is the biggest liar of the lot."

"I mean," Michelle began again, searching for how to word this. It seemed best that perhaps she just explain. "He said my father was a pirate. But I know that to be false."

"Then 'e was lyin'!" Anita groaned. She rolled her eyes and began to play with the fire on one of the candles. "Honestly, girl, you're so bloody feminine—" There was scraping noise of metal, and a sharp tip was pressed against a part of Anita's bare back. Michelle was behind the young woman, a sword in her hand, holding it on Anita's back.

"If I must be," Michelle hissed. "I can be the farthest thing from feminine." Anita turned slightly, as Michelle removed the sword from her back, and slid it into a hidden scabbard. It was hidden quite well too, behind a thick, partially sewn on fragment of fabric.

A smile flickered on to Anita's face, illuminated by the faint glow of the candles, and she simply said: "I think the Captain'll like you now."

Anita rose to her feet quickly, grabbed a bag of some sorts from the room and lead Michelle out. It still hadn't occurred to her, as to where Michelle had gotten the sword. Perhaps she had had it all along, and just never saw fit to make its presence known.

She quickly ascended the staircase, bag in on arm, Michelle's wrist in the other. The deck and stairs were slippery, typical. If the ship was dry, that probably meant they had been marooned on some lone island somewhere far out at sea.

Anita banged on the door to Jones' cabin, the sound of the sepulchral organ music echoing from within. Anita banged again against the barnacle encrusted door, and waited for Jones to respond. She was about to bang again, before she heard the clunking inside from the pirate captain. Anita and Michelle both backed away a few steps, knowing Jones was the type of man who never seemed to underestimate himself, and liked to show off his immense strength by throwing doors open, almost knocking them off their hinges.

And the captain had done just that. The door swung open quickly, and powerfully, nearly hitting both girls, even though they had both taken a substantial step backwards.

"An' what exactly were yeh plannin' on speakin' ta me about?" he asked gruffly, noticing it was the two girls who were common on his ship. Anita glared at him, and held out her arm with the bag.

"I think you might want her around, Cap'n." she said, reaching over to Michelle's side and pulling out the sword. "She's had this, Sir." She added, holding the sword to him, handle first. "I don't know how long she's had it, or where it came from."

Jones took the sword, and examined it, laughing so his tentacle beard swished a bit. The sword was the cleanest thing on the ship, glinting in the dull sunlight. It was obviously not made of the _best_ metal, but it was an exceptional sword for a girl. "Nice sword." Jones commented. "For a woman that is." Jones set the bag Anita had given him on the ground, and returned the blade to Michelle, offering her the handle. "Can ye use it?"

Michelle shrugged a bit. "_Decently_." She growled. "I learned when I was younger." Jones grinned, as Michelle took the sword back, and was about to return it to its scabbard.

"Miss _Belard_." He said, putting a strange emphasis on her last name. "Show me that ye can use it." He reached to his side with his more humanistic hand, unsheathing a larger, clearly stronger sword. Michelle stared at him in partial disbelief. "I give no mercy ta women." He advised. "If ye wish not ta fight, by all means, walk away."

Michelle smiled a bit, she knew this man was a pirate and obviously highly skilled in swordsmanship. But why walk away from a good fight. It wasn't as if he was going to try and kill her.

However, all assumptions aside, the moment Michelle raised her sword again, Jones lashed at her as if it was a fight to the death. She held her sword firmly holding back the majority of the swing. Obviously, the pirate _was_ going easy on her. He had a massive amount of strength, and was holding that back, but his skill, he was surely using to his advantage.

Michelle swung her sword around to unhook her sword from the Captains. She was sure she wasn't going to win this fight, but she was up for something at least _mildly_ entertaining for the time being. She shuffled back as Jones swung at her, holding her sword firmly blocking what she needed to of his swings before taking a slight lunge forward, swinging at the pirate and taking a short jab, reaching his arm. Backing off, she smiled and said, "Touché." Jones laughed, having barely felt the touch.

"Yer decent, girl." He complimented, starting to put his sword back. Michelle slid her sword back into her scabbard. It really was her sword, she had gotten it years earlier, and her father insisted she have it at all times, in case such a kidnapping like this took place. She began to open her mouth to speak, but the pirate came at her, and jabbed down at her quickly. But before Michelle could move from the attack, or bring her sword back out to block, something clashed with the blow.

Anita crashed chest first with the jab, the blade sliding right through her chest. Michelle screamed a bit, and covered her eyes with her hands, but heard Anita speak. "Now that was just rude." She hissed, as Michelle uncovered her eyes, to see Anita yanking the blade from the left side of her chest. Surely, because that's where her heart was, she should have been bleeding to death. She examined the tear in her dress and looked at Michelle. "What?" she asked, unsure as to why Michelle was pale and shocked.

"H-he just _stabbed_ you through the chest!" she shouted. "And you're alive! And you're not bleeding!"

"And?" Anita asked, nonchalantly.

"How did you do that!" Michelle gasped. Crew members were starting to encircle them, laughing and speaking amongst themselves.

"I'm dead." Anita replied, taking the Captain's sword and shoving it into the chest of a nearby crewman. He stared downwards at the stab and growled, pulling the sword out, yanking out an axe and swinging at Anita. And in moments, most of the crew had weapons out and were fighting. Michelle watched blatantly, and suddenly found herself with her sword out, and fighting crewmembers, trying get up to Anita to scream at her for not telling her that she was dead. Michelle swung at a crewman and searched for Anita and sliced a few more times before pointing around, finding that she had her sword at the Captain. Completely accidental. The fighting ceased, Michelle sheathed her sword, and the crew returned to their posts.

She was staring at the Captain, who looked thoroughly infuriated. Michelle stared at the waterlogged wood of the ship beneath her, avoiding his gaze. After a moment, the Captain began laughing. "I told ye, that ye had pirate in ye." He said. "Ye fight like one."

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him. "_Pardon moi, mais je ne suis pas une pirate._" She snorted in French.

"You, maybe not, but yer father, _yes_." Jones corrected. "Yer father's a Pirate Lord, lass. _Monsieur_ _Belard_, is tha' what he goes by now? His real name's Chevalle, _Captain_ Chevalle to be exact." He leaned down, so he was face to face with Michelle. "And yer father's got a debt to settle."


	5. Ransom

Demanders for Bootstrap; he has arrived. Not much to say about this chapter, but there is a crucial turning point. There'll be one or two more chapters before I could say that they're be midway through the events of CotBP. And then, it's to the events of DMC. Yay! --Anna

Ch. 5

Michelle quickly yanked out her sword and pointed directly at the pirate's face. "For the final time." She growled. "My father was not a pirate." Jones laughed at her, his tentacle beard swishing, as he pushed past her, starting for his cabin. He reached to the floor and picked up the bag he had received from Anita, and handed it to Michelle.

"Regardless if 'e is or not, ye'll be stayin' as a part o' my crew for th' time bein'." Jones ordered, motioning for her to follow him into his cabin. Michelle peered into the bag, noticing it was filled with various men's clothing and boots.

"Men's clothes?" she asked. "You expect me to listen to you, and join your crew?" She arched and eyebrow, a quizzical stare on her face. "You've got me wrong. My father was not a pirate, and neither am I, and therefore, I will not be joining you. There, _Captain_, I said it. I will _not_ be joining—" Jones turned quickly, and held his claw around her neck, and slamming Michelle into the wall. A sickened glower was on his face as he pinned the girl down.

"Ye will _not_ speak ta me like I'm some common street dweller!" he roared, sending the odor the sea, from his breath in an intangible cloud around Michelle's face. She coughed a bit, and looked away from the pirate, she found herself staring at his organ. However, her gaze did not remain focused long, for the pirate reached out with one of the tentacles from his face, and grasped her chin, turning her towards him. "I've told ye before, ye either stay here, as my servants o' sorts until yer father's debt is filled, or, I kill yeh both, and keep _ye_," he pointed at Michelle with another tentacle. "here as a member o' my crew. Unlike th' others, ye won't get a chance to go, ye'll be here with me, fer eternity."

"My father was _not_ a pirate!" she screamed, knowing she shouldn't fight, fighting someone such as Jones would only waste her strength.

"Oh will you _shut up_." Came the voice of Anita, as she entered the room. "Your father was a bloody pirate going under the name Chevalle. He, and my Captain, Villanueva were enemies, all right? Your father stole from my Captain, so don't expect any sympathy from me, girl." Anita's appearance struck Jones and caused him to release Michelle. "And piracy runs in families, so it's a matter of time before you side with us." She gave Jones a stare, almost as if she was reading his thoughts and left the room moments later.

Michelle had slumped to the ground, not wanting to admit that her father could really have been a pirate. Her knees were brought to her chest, and a moment or so later, she reached into her hidden scabbard, and pulled out her sword. Jones being the _merciful_ man he was, stood away, expecting the girl to drive the sword through her chest in a fit of denial. If she did just that, he'd have the ransom he'd need to take the life of one of the nine Pirate Lords.

Instead, however, Michelle took a fistful of her tan, dry hair, and held it out at her side, holding a good fourteen inches of the hip length hair in hand as she used her sword to slice off the ends, letting them fall to the ground. Quickly she repeated the process on the rest of her hair, until it all laid at her shoulders. She opened the bag she had received and pulled out its contents, a blouse, knee-length vest, trousers, a belt and a shirt that resembled one of her corsets. Gently, she slid the blade down the back of her dress and sliced open the knots she had tied in the back to cover her back. Shaking her shoulders, she shook the dress off her body, and pulled on the blouse and corset like top, which was obviously meant to be worn over the blouse. She stepped into the trousers, which fit surprisingly well, and brought the vest on over the rest of her clothes before using the belt to secure herself. Finally, she reached into the bag, pulling out a pair of pirate's boots, and yanked them on.

Michelle turned around, noticing that Davy Jones had in fact turned around while she was dressing. A small smile flickered upon her face. "Finally you do something decent." She grumbled amusingly.

"Why'd yeh change?" he asked blankly. Michelle shrugged as the pirate faced her.

"Maybe it's because if I have to remain here on this ship, I should at least wear something that won't make me stumble and fall, and something I could work in if I have to." She explained, yanking her scabbard from the hidden slit in her old dress and attaching it to the belt.

Jones approached her, laughing a bit, having unsheathed his sword. Michelle held hers tightly. "So, I guess tha' means that if I killed ye right now, ye wouldn't object ta joinin' th' crew?"

Michelle shook her head quickly. "D-don't." she pleaded, but she couldn't avoid it. Jones jabbed at her, stabbing her quickly in the shoulder, piercing her flesh, and the clothes she had just changed into. She cringed in pain, as blood began to drip from her upper arm, and stain her _new_ clothes. Jones swiftly yanked the blade from her arm, causing Michelle, to stand, stunned against the wall of the cabin, trying to stop the bleeding. Jones rolled his icy eyes and tossed her a rag.

"Put pressure on it." He insisted. "It'll stop the bleeding." He glanced at her, noticing her pale, shocked expression as she pressed the rag on her wound. "That stab is nothing, compared ta what th' crew might do ta ye." Jones stepped away from her, and seemed to merge with the wall, vanishing.

Michelle sat down at the floor, beneath a few brightly lit candles, and slid her arm out from the clothes, and placed the thick rag over her wound on her bare arm. She hissed in slight pain, the rag was a bit dirty, but not enough to be painful, just a slight sting.

"Careful with that." Came a deep voice. Michelle turned her head quickly, trying to find the source of the speaker. "It might get infected."

Still no appearance from anyone, and Michelle loosened her hold on the rag, pretending she must have just heard something.

But the moment she moved her hand from her gash, pressure returned to it. She turned her head, to find a man, with waterlogged flesh, who appeared to be _slightly_ ready to decompose, with barnacles and a starfish on his face. He wore a beanie upon his head, with his drenched hair coming down from beneath it.

She screamed a bit, unsure where this man came from. He continued to press down with the rag upon Michelle's stab wound.

"Wh-where did you come from?" she asked softly. "P-please, don't hurt me." The man laughed, finding her comment on being hurt amusing.

"You'll speak freely around Davy Jones, but you're scared of the most harmless fool on the ship." He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt ya, Michelle."

A moment of silence. "How do you know my name?" she asked. The man laughed again.

"You'd have to be an idiot, to be a crewmember and not to know your name." he said. "The Captain's been serious about making sure you don't get killed." He pressed down on Michelle's wound again. It was still bleeding, but not as much as before, but it was obviously going to need to be bandaged.

It was then when Michelle noticed that this man wasn't like the rest of the crew. Aside from the barnacles and starfish on his face and a small assortment of sea life on his clothing, he was far more human than the rest of the men on the _Flying Dutchman_. "You're not like the rest." She muttered. "You look…more alive."

The man grinned, almost cheerfully. "I haven't even been aboard the _Dutchman_ for a decade. In fact, I think it was seven years ago today, that there was the mutiny." He had a faraway, glassy look in his eyes.

"Pardon me?" Michelle asked. "Mutiny?"

"There was a mutiny on my old ship." He continued. "One day, our first mate decided we needed to get rid of our Captain. He was a good man and didn't deserve to be mutinied on." He laughed almost sarcastically. "I told 'em that it was wrong, we shouldn't've done it. And Cap'n Barbossa said to me 'Bootstrap Bill, you'll pay for those words. Jack Sparrow was nothing but a nuisance to our goals in mind.' And then, they just—" He froze, and stared at Michelle with a forgiving expression. "I just kept goin' didn't, I?"

Michelle smiled and laughed a bit for the first time in a long time. "No, no, it's quite all right…_Bootstrap_, did you say? Is that your name?"

"Of sorts." He replied. "Real name's William Turner, but everyone just knows me as Bootstrap, or Bootstrap Bill."

"Now then, I may assume we are both on a first name basis, then?" she asked. Bootstrap shrugged a bit. "Please, I'd like to hear the rest of your story."

"If you say so." He said. "N-now, where was I? Yes, that was it. Anyways, the new Captain, Barbossa, strapped me to a cannon, and threw me and the cannon overboard. I ended up on the bottom of the ocean, and there was nothing, not a thing that I could do. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breath. I couldn't die. Then that was when Davy Jones appeared before me, and cut loose the straps on the cannon. I felt myself starting to float towards the surface, and then, Jones said, in the darkest voice I've ever heard 'Do you fear death?' I did, and I was willing to do anything to escape death. And now, here I am, serving aboard the _Dutchman_." His expression, which had seemed excited as he told his story, fell and appeared dismal. "One hundred years, before the mast…" he sighed. "Only then, will I be able to see out my own fate, and die like I was supposed to."

He released his hand with the rag from Michelle's shoulder momentarily before wrapping it around the wound. "I'm here until my _father_ decides he's ready to pay his debt."

Bootstrap gave her an inquiring look. "You mean, you're not here to postpone death?" he asked. Michelle shook her head. "Then you must leave, as soon as you can." Bootstrap tied a tight knot on the fabric of Michelle's wound.

"What happens if I stay?" she asked, knowing she was dreading the answer, just from the dark tone of Bootstrap's voice.

His eyes were dry and bloodshot. "You'll become part of the ship." He said, almost menacingly. "Jones will make you part of this crew no matter what the costs, even if he must anger the Brethren Court. You're ransom to him." Bootstrap had a look of pure concern, and partial fear upon his decaying face. "And I know what he wants in exchange for you." His voice grew shaky, almost paranoid. "He wants _her_."


	6. A Trade

Okay, well so all of you know, the original version of this story was MUCH different. I only changed it after seeing POTC3 on May 24th. I really changed the basis of this chapter, especially after discovering about Captain Chevalle. I rewrote this chapter at least twice, and I'm relatively proud about how this came out. Remember, folks, this story takes place a year, year and a half before CotBP. Right now, it's been several months since Michelle's arrival, so things are different. The reason behind the mentioning of the Kraken will be obvious if you remember stuff from DMC.

Ch. 6

"Take the helm, Michelle!" Anita snapped, jumping over the railing, causing Michelle to take a firm hold of the wheel, holding it back. Since arriving she had had some practice at the helm, but not enough to steady the ship during a storm. Anita had jumped down to the main deck to held secure cannons and lifelines. It never occurred to Michelle how Davy Jones had let not just one girl, but two, on to the _Flying Dutchman_.

Her hands wrapped tighter around the grips of the helm and tried to steady the wheel.

"Take it easy, girl!" she heard Bootstrap shout from behind, as he grasped the wheel for her instead, relieving her of the duty.

It had been a good six to eight months. Michelle had discovered the ways of sailing, not piracy, but she knew how to work on deck. She had evolved quickly from a prestigious noblewoman with a shy and timid disposition, to a girl, with a shorter temper, and arrogant persona. She had always had a wild side to her at home and covered it with her nobility, but now, she let all care go to the wind, and decided if she could be herself anywhere, the _Flying Dutchman_ was the place.

By most, she had been accepted as a sort of temporary crew member, and had avoided getting all the aquatic attributes the other members had. She ignored Bootstrap's warnings. He was a man she could trust, but she couldn't just abandon the ship, and leave her father to face the consequences. There was finally someone on this god forsaken ship she could talk to if necessary, and that was in fact, Bootstrap Bill. Something about him, reminded her of one of her brothers. Her oldest brother could have been Bootstrap's age, but she knew full well that her oldest brother was obviously not named William Turner. But the man gave off that kind of brotherly feeling.

Anita however, still had a grudge against Michelle, and she knew full well what it was. If Michelle's father really was the Pirate Lord Chevalle, then he really was enemies with the Pirate Lord Villanueva, but it was a simple feud, and naturally drew the French and Spanish pirates apart…At least, that was what she had heard.

But above all, Michelle had discovered that an impression wasn't left on her, as much as one was left on Davy Jones.

"Why doesn't the Captain give the order to go under!" Michelle shouted to Bootstrap over the clapping of thunder.

"You're on board!" he replied loudly, "We can't risk going under while you're on! You'd die before we resurfaced!"

"I've been on when he's went under before, Bootstrap!" she shouted, her French accent having deteriorated quite a bit, and her English having had improved.

There was the sound of a large door swinging open, and out on to the deck, came the Captain. He climbed up the set of crooked stairs to the helm and stood near Michelle, giving Bootstrap the kind of look that seemed to announce to him to relinquish control of the wheel to him.

"Yes?" Michelle asked softly, as Bootstrap walked off, and the Captain took the wheel with ease.

"Yeh make me curious." He said nonchalantly. "Jus' 'bout how ye've changed. Ye came upon my ship as a quiet girl, who was just lookin' fer a _decent_ man, so ye said." He turned the wheel a bit. "An' now, yer turnin' pirate." Jones laughed. "I told ye, ye would."

Michelle rolled her eyes as rain began to pelt down on the ship, soaking her hair quickly. "It's just because I've had to spend so much time here. It was change or fall behind."

"Either way," Jones continued. "Yer makin' a good pirate." Michelle stared at him from the corner of her eye.

"I'm not turning pirate." She snorted. "I'm surviving." Jones chuckled, having heard many a sailor say the same thing.

"Most pirates say that just before they turn." He replied, proving a point. "Ye'll be a pirate before long."

"Will you stop that?" she asked. "I've had enough of everyone _assuming_ that I'm turning into a pirate."

"But you are!" came the screaming from Anita below. "You're a bloody pirate, and a damn poor one at that! Damn Frenchie!" Yet another sign of proof that the French and Spanish pirates did not get along.

"Bloody Spaniard!" Michelle snapped back. At home, she never would have fought someone of another ethnicity. She had her hand placed on her sword.

"You want to fight over it then?" Anita growled, releasing the rope she had been holding, reaching to her side.

Michelle was about to slide her sword from its scabbard, but Jones put his clawed hand before her, holding her back, declaring to Anita that she should return to work. A clever grin slid upon the man's face as he turned to Michelle, and cockily replied: "Yer a pirate."

Pirate she may have been becoming, but all piracy aside, and all alliances with the most feared ship upon the seas, there was something that was supposedly more frightening. A creature of myths so she had heard, a creature, that by rumor, could suction a man's face off, leaving it as a lumpy, mound of flesh. With a breath with a stench of all the dead of the world, and the power of all the sea storms combined, it was a feared, and practically cursed creature. The Kraken.

And not until now, did she know how it was controlled. Most had either thought it was the pet of a sea goddess, or was just a freakishly deformed octopus which had gone mad, and attacked ships randomly. She had to be the only _non_-pirate to know how it was controlled.

It was by Jones' will. There was a crank in the center of the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ which had a crude carving of an octopus on its top. This crank would awaken the Kraken, and summon it to do Jones' bidding. The men of the crew would turn the crank until is rose several feet into the air, and then, it would fall, crashing down, with a thunderous bang. And within moments, the creature would arrive towards a target ship, wrap its enormous tentacles around it, and drag the ship down to the depths.

The _Dutchman_ came side to side with a ship of foreign colors. The French colors…but it was definitely not the French flag. Jones stood at the center of the deck, at the railing, as to see who would arrive.

"Captain?" Michelle asked, wringing out the sleeve of her shirt. "What is it?" He silenced her, as a man walked to the center of the French ship.

"Davy Jones!" the man shouted across the ships. "I 'ave come wis a proposal." He had a sharply pristine pirates hat on, with a few lush feathers protruding from the corner, and for a pirate, he was surprisingly well dressed, and his face was rather clean. He stood tall, with a prestigious, governmental, powdered wig, and a neatly trimmed mustache.

Michelle froze, and she started away from Jones. "Father!" she shouted, knowing without a doubt it was her father. "Papa! C'est moi! Je suis ici!" She waved her arms around at him, but before the pirate could respond, Jones pushed her aside.

"What is it that ye propose, Captain Chevalle?" Jones asked, pushing Michelle to Maccus, the man who had a shark's head. "An' are ye sure I'd be willin' ta accept it?"

"Oui, you should be willing to accept it." He answered. "All I ask iz pour vous to return my daughter back to me."

"Why would ye want 'er back now, after tradin' her ta me?" Jones growled. "She's part o' my crew now, Chevalle."

"Only somezing I know you to be a zympathizer of." Chevalle replied. "Zere iz a marriage proposal waiting for her back at our home."

Michelle yanked away from Maccus. "Father!" she cried. "Y-you're not _really_ a pirate, are you?"

Chevalle laughed at her. "What do you say, Jones?" he asked. "Allow me to 'ave my daughter back. Let her get married, 'ave a few grandchildren for me, zen you can take her back."

Michelle scoffed at her father. Jones smiled at her, and said "I told ye he was a pirate. What normal man would trade his daughter fer ten more years of life."

Michelle, began to climb over the railing, planning to dive off and swim over to her father's ship. No matter what she heard about her father, she refused to believe she was a bad man. Jones however, grabbed her by the collar of the shirt and yanked her back.

"She's part o' my crew now, Chevalle!" Jones shouted, as Michelle began to fight him, trying to get free.

"She iz?" Chevalle asked. "How so? I do not see any sea creatures growing on 'er body, like ze rest of your crew."

"She's mine until ye give me what I want!" he roared. "An' ye and the rest o' those blasted Pirate Lords know what I want!"

"Zen do it yourself." Chevalle laughed, the men of his crew laughing with him. "You bound her, you should be able to do it alone. Holding my daughter as ransom will not convince me to summon the Brethren Court to answer your call."

Michelle was appalled at her father's words. "Very well then, Chevalle!" Jones added to the speaking, as he yanked Michelle to his side, and holding a sword to her neck. "Then I'll just have to kill th' girl!"

Michelle gasped, and looked up at the Captain from the corner of her eyes, pleading almost, to not kill her.

"No!" Chevalle shouted. "Do not kill my daughter!" Men around Chevalle began to point guns at the _Dutchman_. He shouted something in French, pointing at the ship, seeming to demand to return Michelle.

Jones quickly turned Michelle around, looking at her partially sympathetically, and partially hatefully. He grabbed one of her hands, and held it out in front of him, and ran his more human hand over her palm, until a lumpish, black blotch appeared on her. "Go." He hissed. "But I _will_ get you back."

He smacked her across the chest knocking her over the railing, and causing her to collide with the sea. A splash rose into the air, as someone from Chevalle's crew dove over to retrieve her.

Michelle coughed as she regained her composure, swimming choppily in the sea as the man, possibly her father's first-mate, reached hold of her waist. She stared up at the _Flying Dutchman_, as it began speeding up, and with a magnificent splash, was underneath the sea.


	7. Jack of Spades

Okay, I'm going to try for a chapter, maybe two a day. At this point, we're getting into CotBP. I was writing this chapter, and listening to DMC music, and it just occurred to me…Dead Man's Chest has two meanings. Fancy that. It took me almost a year to notice that it could mean the box, and Davy's chest. Haha. If you're a little confused by the beginning, sorry, I was sleep deprived. I felt like Barbossa this chapter. I kept eating apples while writing this. I suggest if you listen to music while reading chapters, start with listening to the middle part of the Kraken's theme, the switch over to Davy's :B It works. --Anna P.S. If you get the Beatles reference, let me know.

Ch. 7

Michelle barged up to her father, and the only thing that was audible was the screaming of a woman's scorn, which hell hath no. She was clearly upset with her father, who took each word to heart, as if to say he was aware that what he did was wrong, even for a pirate. No man would trade their child for their own life. Except for Captain Chevalle that is.

"Michelle, ma belle." He said. "My apologies for my faults on delivering you to Davy Jones." Michelle was seething with anger, her sword out.

"Is that all you can say?" Michelle asked, her body shivering, gently whispering the words that she had been afraid to say aboard the _Dutchman_. "Father…he _hurt_ me." The Captain quirked an eyebrow. "B-but…but, I _enjoyed_ it. I was part of the crew." She paused and shook her head. "I was beginning to like it there…"

Chevalle gave his daughter a painful expression, and placed his hand on his daughters shoulder. "I never intended to put you in such a position—"

There was a sudden shake on the ship, knocking men to the floor, including Michelle. Her father reached down and helped her up, only then, did he see the black spot.

"Tache de noir!" he shouted, seeing the temporarily deformed flesh of her palm.

"Get to any longboats." She insisted, knowing exactly what the tremor was. "C'est le Kraken." Surrounding men began shouting orders, and longboats began to be lowered along the side of the ship. Captain Chevalle watched as his crew began boarding.

"I will not be disgraced and run from ze Kraken." He snorted. "I will stay and—"

"No!" Michelle shouted, pushing him to the ladder of the ship. "You'll be killed if you stay! I have seen the Kraken, and it is not to be underestimated!"

Captain Chevalle smacked his daughters pushy hands away. "Michelle…" he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "You are my daughter, and I regret ever having traded your life for mine."

"I can accept your understanding that it was wrong, but I cannot forgive you…" she muttered. "Get in the longboat, I'm not going to let you die." Another tremor, this one knocked both the Captain and his daughter to the ground. Then with a fearsome splashing, large, puce green tentacles began to rise, pouring water over the crew.

Captain Chevalle began to quickly descend the ladder to the longboat, but before he could go any farther, he pulled out what appeared to be a playing card, a Jack of Spades. "Take this, Michelle." He insisted, handing it to her. "at least until you know I've survived." Chevalle grasped his daughters hands and yanked her from the ship, as the large tentacles of the Kraken began to crash down upon the deck of the ship, sending splintering wood everywhere. Michelle began falling, and crashed landed into the water yet again, keeping a hold of the Jack of Spades. She surfaced, catching her breath to see her father still latched to the ship.

Michelle began swimming up to the side of the ship to help her father, but found herself falling under. She screamed, and splashed a bit, getting the interest of her father, who jumped from the ship, landing in the longboat. He began to take his jacket off to dive in after his daughter, but the debris from his ship were becoming far too dangerous and it seemed as if saving her may have been a lost cause, and giving her his Piece of Eight might have been a bad idea.

She felt the slimy texture of tentacles and was expecting to find herself to be dragged under into the deep darkness of the sea, and never arise again, however…

She was wrong. She turned underwater, finding herself in the view of Davy Jones. He laughed at her, the water having no effect on the tone and volume of the sound. "Yer not gettin' away from me that easily." He laughed, holding the girl under the surface of the raging sea. Michelle tried yanking away but she was at an incredible depth, and she'd die before she reached the surface.

But instead of swimming, she found herself upon the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_. She stood up quickly and pointed her sword at Davy Jones. "You're a monster, you are!" she screamed.

Jones turned at her, grabbing her by the arm and slamming her into one of the walls of the ship. "What'd ye expect, girl?" he roared. "No longer do ye get the chance ta see me as a _good_ man! Ye get ta see me as a th' man th' rest o' the crew sees!" He removed Michelle's blade from her hands and pointed it at her chest. "I see somethin' in ye, though." He continued. "So, I won't be killin' ye…yet."

"I don't understand you." Michelle hissed, snatching her sword from the Captain's hands. "One moment, you're treating me like…" She paused, thinking of the proper way to say it. "Like a lover. Next, you treat me like I'm lower than…than…_you_!"

Jones chuckled menacingly. "A _lover_?" he asked. "Ha! Love is th' last thing a man such as m'self would be interested in." Michelle slid her sword in its scabbard. "All I can say about ye, is that ye may be just as untamable as she."

"I'm not saying that you _do_ love me." She growled. "But such is how you treat me at times." Jones turned from her, and began to barge off.

"Ye told me in th' beginnin' ta treat ye like I treated her." Jones stated. "An' I do when I can, otherwise, yer nothin' but…but a _woman_."

Michelle silently slid her sword from her scabbard again, and with a silent, and clearly angered turn of her arm, she swung her sword at the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. But he didn't dodge it, or hold up a sword of his own. Instead, he caught the blade in the opening of his clawed, left hand.

"If ye hated me so, ye should've just stayed with yer father." He snorted. "Ye shouldn't've forced yer father down…"

"I don't hate you…" Michelle muttered. "I can't say I hate you. But, I can say you're a monster. A heartless monster, with absolutely no sense of worth of himself. You're black to the bone, with nothing but this ship powering your cruelty." Jones turned back to her, listening to the words as they left her mouth. Each word was slowly spoken, but clear as a bell, and stung Jones, with every addition to describing the person he knew he was. "In fact, if anything, I pity you Davy Jones. You're just…a shell of what a man once was." She took a few, nervous and inaudible steps towards him, her head held high, knowing that she was speaking poorly about and to her Captain. Shakily she rose one of her hands and placed it against the man's chest, past the tentacles and sea-life, right to where his heart was supposed to be. She held her position for a moment and listened quietly to the sounds of the man's chest…But what sounds? Michelle pulled her hand away from him, and kept her hands at her side. "And as they've all said, you have no heart."

She shook her head solemnly. "I find it strange." She continued. "That the most feared man in the entire seas, was so damn hurt by a betrayal from a woman he loved, that he had to sink down and slice out his heart because of the pain. Some devil you are! You're just a coward, hiding from the pain! Do you think that I have wanted to cut out my heart after being here? After the pain I've dealt with here? Being torn from my family? I haven't! And look at you! You cut out your heart because you felt as if you were betrayed! Love isn't the world, Davy Jones! I'm past my marrying age, and I don't care if I die as an old crone!" She inhaled roughly. "And the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ is just a cowardly old fool who knows not the true feelings of the heart…Instead, he just carved it out and locked it away."

Jones had been aching inside, with or without a heart, it was a painful blow to him. Michelle barely knew the kind of man he really was, but she had obviously heard his stories. She had brought up a good argument, that is until she had called him a coward. Davy Jones was not a man to be called a coward. He was the most feared man upon the seas. He was tempted to kill the girl for that. Then, comparing herself and her hardships to his, was just a farce to try and get himself to feel sorry for himself. But alas, a man with no heart could not feel sorry for himself. He couldn't feel sorry for anyone. Not even her.

But she had had a point. She had obviously known what it was like to have loved and lost, but she was not admitting it. Michelle had known that life wasn't all about love. She was living proof. At twenty-three, she was approaching a point where she wouldn't be suitable for marriage. Jones could see why she didn't care, at this rate, only elderly men would offer her a marriage proposal. Jones had thought about marriage to _her_ when he was alive, but the idea that it could hold him back from sailing hurt him, so after that thought once, he never questioned marriage again.

"Ye know me too well, girl." He muttered, walking away from her. "Ye never even had ta meet me ta know. Yer tongue is sharp, and yer words are true, ye have me memorized…" He glanced at her. "But I can tell ye now, I am not a coward."

"You are to me." Michelle replied instantly. "If you weren't, you would have killed me by now."

"That may be so, but cowardice is no excuse fer not killin' someone." He said. "_Decency_ is the excuse…"


	8. It's Broken

YAY! Happy 1000 Hits! This has been my most anticipated 1000 hits ever. This story hasn't even hit the 72 hours mark on publication, and already, I'm at 1000. I've written so many other stories and it takes at least a week for those stories to reach 1000 and I just wanted to say thank you, to all of you! I never thought my first POTC fic would be so popular! This chapter is more humorous than anything, so enjoy the comedic ways of our favorite bandana'd pirate. Yup, he's here now! We're finally into DMC! --Anna

Ch. 8

Her sword clashed against that of a raiding pirate, yanking away, she thrust the blade deep within the pirate's gut, and pulled away, striking another pirate in the face with the handle of the sword, before driving the blade into his chest. Michelle turned to see Anita on the deck of the ship, whispering into her hands as she dropped the contents on the floor. She never understood what it was that Anita did, even after the year and a half she had been there.

"Bootstrap!" Michelle shouted as her fellow crewman passed by. "Why do we have to go through all this all of a sudden?"

"She's nearin' us!" Bootstrap replied over the clashing of swords. He swung down an axe, lodging it into the skull of an invading pirate.

"Who?" Michelle asked, shoving her blade into the arm of a pirate behind her. He screamed, and began to swing at Michelle, but because of the surprised state of shock, he tripped and fell overboard into the sea.

"Who, indeed!" Bootstrap laughed. "She's gainin' on us, so I gather it's only a matter of time before—"

"Down!" Jones shouted from the helm. "Shake off these remainin' slackers by the current of th' sea!"

Michelle ran up to the helm and paced back a bit. It was the drill, if the ship was about to dive under, Michelle would dive off, seeing that she was unable to survive under the pressure and current of the airless seas. But this time, Jones had set up a rare longboat for her.

"I've got a job fer ye." He laughed. "Yer goin' to board."

"Board who?" she asked, as Jones held her back from diving off of the ship.

"The _Pearl_." He snorted. "The Captain has a debt ta settle and I'll be needin' ye ta get over there." Jones rolled his eyes, and lifted the girl up with his clawed arm and dropped her in the longboat, and cut the ropes, causing her and the boat to drop to the sea, rather than be carefully lowered down.

The current was all Michelle needed to take her into the distance of a large ship, with black sails, and wood that was so dark it appeared black as well. There was a decent amount of men aboard that ship, and from the looks of it, the men aboard the _Dutchman_ were not from this ship.

She stood up carefully and waved her arms at the men. Most just stared at her as if she was a ghost but a few began to acknowledge that there was someone there. Someone, who appeared to be a legal midget compared to the crew, finally threw her a line, and the men aboard began to hoist her up on to the deck. If this ship was filled with pirate, she'd be safe, but if they were part of one of the Royal Navies, she would probably be killed instantly…

Or she could just pull an Anne and Mary move and claim she was pregnant. But from the looks of these men, they were obviously pirates. She sat on the deck and gained her balance before standing up, and taking observation of the pirates. They all looked at her quizzically, as if they were expecting her to be a man. "Yes?" she asked them. A few of them jumped, hearing her speak.

"Oi, you, who're you, what're you doing here, and do you happen to know how to get to the Turkish Prison?" A man began to walk up to her, with matted dreadlocks, and various beads and charms adorned in his hair. A simple, leather hat sat upon his head, and beneath it was a beaded charm. He was a better dressed pirate than Michelle had ever seen, aside from her father, and had an arrangement of accessories upon a belt.

"M-me?" she asked. The rest of the crew began to disperse.

"No not you, the kelp on your face." He replied. "Of course I mean you!" He waved his hands at her in encouragement.

"O-oh…" she muttered. "My name's Michelle _Chevalle_, and I…uh…I survived a shipwreck and no…Why would you want to go to a Turkish Prison anyways."

"Chevalle, eh?" the man said. "Well then, Miss…or Mrs….Maybe Ms. Chevalle…you know if there was anything, oh, salvageable upon said sinking vessel?" he asked. "That is if it's still…somewhat floating."

"Not that I know of…" Michelle said. This Captain was obviously lacking in priorities, most Captains she knew of would have instantly threatened someone or locked them below for the time being, but this man was running around her with strange questions. "E-excuse me, but…I feel as if I might be getting in the way."

"You're too polite for a pirate." The man said. "So polite you almost scare me."

Michelle opened her mouth to speak, and pointed a finger in declaration. "What's your name? Why're you asking me so many questions and why is it in your interest to go to such a Turkish Prison?" She placed a hand on her hips gently, as if to give off a cockier disposition.

The pirate took off his hat and placed it upon his chest, bowing slightly. "Captain Jack Sparrow, miss." He introduced. "Questions are what I do best, more importantly it's what an existentialist does best to keep from going mad, and in a certain round about of doing things, one must question why the existentialist questions…Savvy?"

"No, not savvy." Michelle responded. "I didn't understand a single thing you just said."

Sparrow laughed and pointed a finger at the girl, placing his hat back upon his head. "Exactly!"

"You're avoiding my other question." She added. "Why do you need to go to a Turkish Prison?"

"Nothin' important." Sparrow mused. "Just lookin' for a little drawing I've heard about."

"Drawing of what, pray tell?" Michelle asked. "Something of value, something, oh I don't know, like a _map _perhaps?"

"Map?" Sparrow asked. "Who needs a map when I've got this!" He held up a compass and opened it. "See, fascinating, in'it?"

Michelle watched the arrow for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't point north." She stared at Sparrow awkwardly. "It's broken."

"My compass is not _broken_. It's unique." He retorted. Michelle nodded sarcastically. "'Cept the damn thing's not working lately."

"As I said, _broken_." Michelle grunted.

"Fine, believe what you want." Sparrow declared. "But this compass points to what you want most, and it clearly thinks I want even blasted man on my ship!" He seemed to be yelling at the compass in his hand, as if it was a crewmember as well.

Michelle stared at the obviously deranged captain, thinking to herself as to why having this man aboard the _Dutchman_ was so important to Davy Jones. He was clearly insane and very disturbed, and he believed a broken compass could work.

"Here, you try it!" Sparrow announced, shoving the compass in her hands. She stared at it, watching as the arrow spun a bit. "Just wait a moment. It'll work, I know it will."

Finally the arrow stopped, and it was pointing northwest. "It stopped." She said. "Now what."

"Good, now do me a favor and _want_ to find that Turkish Prison. Just _want _that bloody building just like how much you'd want to sleep with me." Michelle smacked the man across the face with one of her hands.

"You're disgusting." She spat, shoving the compass back at him. "I'm going to find someone on this ship who has at least a little hospitality."

She started off along the deck, Sparrow following behind her. "H-how about, I get you to land, or something, then you can use my compass for me, and point me in the right direction and then after I get what I want I'll sleep with you."

Michelle struck him in the face again. "I don't want to sleep with you. I never slept with my captain, and I will, therefore, not sleep with you." Sparrow made a bizarre motion with his hands.

"But every woman in Tortuga wants a piece of Cap'n Jack Sparrow. You're the only one who doesn't!" he raved.

Michelle stared at him. "You think I'm from Tortuga?" she asked. Oh how her reputation had gone down hill. She had always been of high standing, and now, just from her appearance, she was assumed to be a drunken whore of Tortuga. She laughed in Sparrow's face. "You've got me all wrong, _Captain_. I'm neither from Tortuga nor another pirate port. I'm from Martinique, I'm neither a drunk nor a prostitute. I, am a noblewoman, who's just decided to turn her life around and face the seas."

"Oh, excellent, you're another Elizabeth!" Sparrow said, almost cheering. "Can you hold your rum, or do you prefer burning it?" Michelle raised an eyebrow again, and unsheathed her sword. Nearby crew members pulled out pistols and swords of their own.

Michelle ignored each of the men, and approached Sparrow. She grabbed the pirate by the collar, and yanked him up to her. "This is just a warning, _Captain_." She hissed. "Heed this, because Jones'll be after you in due time."

She backed away, sheathed her sword, and grabbed a pistol off of one of the men, and backed up to the edge of the deck. She climbed up upon the railing, her hand wrapped around one of the low hanging ropes and pointed the pistol threateningly at the surrounding crew.

Michelle fired a shot or two in the air, just to remind the crew it was a warning, before diving off into the sea.

After a few miles of drifting and swimming, she found herself in range of the Dutchman again, and was hoisted aboard.

"Well?" Jones asked her.

"Sparrow wants to sleep with me." She said plainly. Jones chuckled, and mentioned he wanted to sleep with practically any woman he saw. It was just the way of most pirates.

"What else did ye find out?" Jones asked her. "Anything that might lead us ta him?"

"Turkish prisons." She muttered. "He's searching for one, because of a drawing of something. He said it wasn't a map he was after."

"Of course not." Jones said. "But I know o' which prison he's after." He turned the wheel of the helm. "Anythin' else?"

"Not really…" she said. "He talked of existentialism, and seemed interested in my father." Jones grinned, and Michelle could tell he knew something she didn't, but she decided not to press the matter.

"Nice work." He complimented. It was rare to receive compliments from the Captain. "But I believe sendin' Bootstrap over might strengthen the effect my arrival might have on 'im." He turned the helm again. "Sparrow was his captain after all."


	9. Yemana

Alright, I'm putting a little note at the bottom of this. This chapter contains LOTS of spoilers for AWE. So, if you haven't seen it, see it, then read this. This chapter is a bit more…mushy, but very, very bittersweet. I'm skipping studying for my finals to write this, so you better like it! (Please, NO flames during this chapter)

Ch. 9.

"Captain," Michelle muttered one evening, as she was patrolling the deck. Jones had come out for a smoke like he did once or twice a night. "Why is it that Sparrow has a debt to pay? And why do you want him so badly? He's so incredibly…dimwitted. Brilliant but dimwitted."

Jones exhaled the smoke through the partially sliced off tentacle on his face which was as close to a nose as he could get. "Sparrow is an amazin' pirate. As clever a pirate as any, but his wits make him a better pirate than all th' rest. As fer why he owes me 'is soul, it's just because of that blasted ship o' his."

"And you want him that badly? Just because he's witty?" she asked quizzically. Jones inhaled from his pipe.

"There's more than just that." He assured. "But I won't be gettin' in ta that now." Jones placed a hand on Michelle's shoulder. "Ye really do make a good pirate."

"I know that by now." She grunted. "Can't you say something else? Something that at least flatters me?"

But just as she finished, he spoke. "Yer beautiful." He said quickly, emptying the contents of his pipe and walking off, leaving Michelle entirely stunned.

"The Captain appreciates ya." Michelle turned around and saw Bootstrap appearing from out of the wall. "He never says a good thing to any of us." The pirate limped over to Michelle, and caught a small hermit crab that was crawling along the railing.

She shrugged a bit. "I have to say, I wasn't entirely expecting him to say something like that." She muttered, as Bootstrap placed the hermit crab in his mouth and began to crunch down on it. Michelle shuddered, it had always disturbed her how the men on the ship ate whatever they saw walking around on the ship that was edible. "I'm still wondering why he hasn't just killed me—"

She silenced herself quickly, as the Captain came walking out from his cabin again. Usually, when the Captain entered his cabin, he remained in his cabin. Ignoring Michelle and Bootstrap, he staggered along the deck until he found himself in the room Michelle shared with Anita.

"What do you suppose he is doing in there?" Michelle asked Bootstrap, as she craned her neck to see him enter the room. Without any warning, she crept up to the door of the room, and peeked in through a weathered hole in the wood.

Anita sat at her usual crate table and chair, with blue candles burning. She was playing with the fire, and whispering something to the candles…at least it appeared to be the candles.

"Yes?" she asked, acknowledging Jones' presence. She dipped her finger within the wax, pulling up a bead of the liquid. Rolling it between her fingers it began to shine and grow smooth, and in a matter of seconds, it seemed to shine like a pearl. As a matter of fact, the wax had become that of a pearl, a gleaming white pearl which shone in the candle light. "It has to do with Calypso, doesn't it?" She looked at him with disdainful eyes. She shook her head and began to play with more of the wax, creating pearls from each of them, joining them all with the heat of the fire.

"Why d'ye always 'ave ta think it's about _her_!" Jones roared, smacking the candles to the floor, causing some of the drier wood to catch flame slowly. Anita tossed one or two of the pearls on to the flame, as they exploded into a mist of water, dousing the flames.

"Because the only time I ever see you here is when you feel as if you need a connection to her…" she paused, creating a small waterspout in the palms of her hands, which maneuvered in a way, as to reach into Jones' pocket, and retrieved the locket Michelle had seen him with. "Or when this needs repairing…Still, yet another connection to her…" Anita shook her head opening the locket, as the melody drifted off, but very slowly and achy, just like the sound a broken heart would make. She reached into a small pocket on her dress and pulled out a small, crystalline eye glass, and peered into it. "Fluid has dripped inside it." She observed, pressing her finger over the music box, and raising her finger so she could raise the droplet of liquid. "It is neither fresh nor sea water…but it has a salt based composition, much like sea water…" She removed the eye glass, and stared at Jones cockily. "_Tears_ perhaps?"

Jones reached forward, grabbing the girl by the neck with his claw. "Ye will not pester me with meaningless debauchery, Yemana!"

Michelle glanced back at Bootstrap and muttered the name to him, asking if he knew what it meant. A shrug from him, meaning he was clueless, before she peered back in.

Anita glared at him, and placed a hand over the opening of the claw. She muttered something in what sounded like a combination of Spanish and an African dialect, and seemed to dissolve, a puddle on the floor in her place. A moment later, she manifest, but soaking wet, with a sword pointed at the pirate. "I never gave you permission to use my name." she growled. "My people are the only ones who can speak it with true confidence. You say it as a threat, and I feel ashamed hearing it from your mouth, you despicable, disgrace of the seas." She stepped forward, pointing the sword at Jones' neck. "And unlike you, I can leave this ship and step on land…and I'd have no regrets on replacing my heart with yours." Her breathing was rough. "Do not question my power, Davy Jones. I may be small in comparison to Calypso, and I may be young, but she taught me well. This ship would have decayed years ago, without my help. You took me to save it, and yet you keep me as a reminder of her."

"Watch what ye say, heathen." Jones hissed. "I helped bind Calypso, and I'll bind ye if I must!"

"You bound her because you were too distraught to face the fact that you had your heart broken!" Anita snapped. "Calypso is a better woman than you give her credit for! She saved your life, and gave you this job, because she loved you, and look what you did! You betrayed her!"

Jones grabbed hold of Anita's neck once more. "She betrayed _me_!" he roared.

"Then you're a weak man!" she replied snappily. "I heard what Michelle said to you before. You _are_ a coward. You just keep running away. Your brutality is just a cover for the sniveling mess you truly are! Stop hiding from it all, David! I saw the man Calypso saw in you, and this—" She motioned at him. "Is not him."

"If ye saw the man I really am, then show me." Jones growled. "Show me who I am, then!"

"That is not in my power." Anita barked. "Calypso is the reason you are this way, and she is the only one who can show you for what you were." She sheathed her sword, and took a few steps up to him. "I could show any one else the man you were, but I am unable to show such a cruel-hearted man, what he _was_. I may show him of what he may become." She was up to the man, with a hateful glare upon her face; and she reached to his chest clutching the drenched fabric of his shirt, sending a strange, liquefied tingle through the man's flesh. "You want the _Frenchie_ to see, don't you?" She had a strange, seductive grin upon her face as she said these words.

Jones smacked her hand away from him. "Ye sea goddesses are all th' same…One moment, ye act as if yer full of hate towards a man, th' next yer tryin' ta seduce them…"

"Aye, that may be me." She teased, lifting her candles from the floor. "But Calypso on the other hand…She was not trying to seduce you, she was trying to prove that she _loved_ you." Jones began to walk towards the door, causing Michelle to move a bit. "And she probably still does."

The door swung open and Michelle ran to the bow of the ship where Bootstrap was, joining him in securing various lines. "He loved a goddess." She whispered to him. "N-no wonder he's so hurt…" That was all she could think about.

"It's not hard to guess why he'd lock his heart away then, eh?" Bootstrap asked, quickly changing the subject. "And so the doctor said 'If he locked his heart, where'd the blood go to?'" He faked a laugh. "It's a terrible joke, but the idea of such a stupid doctor amuses me." Michelle gave him an odd stare, but noticed that Jones was approaching.

"Michelle…" he muttered, motioning his clawed arm at her. "Ye need ta come with me." Bootstrap nodded at her, and gave her a slightly reassuring smile. Both of them were dreading to hear if Jones knew they were eavesdropping.

"Yer a classic pirate…" Jones said as he brought Michelle into his cabin with the organ. "Listening in on private meetin's and such." Michelle blushed a bit, most from embarrassment. "So, now ye know _who_ she was…I loved Calypso."

Michelle was silent. "I cannot blame you." She muttered. "And I apologize for calling you a coward…The love of a god…or goddess in your case, must be hard to win, but so easy to lose."

Jones shook his head and took a seat at his organ bench. "It was her betrayal that really left th' hole in m' heart…" he sighed, opening the locket, hearing it's gentle, delicate and bittersweet tune drift around. "An' sometimes I wonder…Does she feel as hurt as I do…Because of what I've done ta th' seas…Her home, her _true_ love…I've made her one love a disaster area…I can't help but imagine that she hurts more than I do." He was silent and sighed again, listening to the empty melody.

"I wish I could sympathize with you…" Michelle muttered. "But I have never loved anyone…At least…I don't think I have. I wish I could understand your suffering."

"They say it's better ta have loved and lost, than ta have never loved at all…" he snorted. "A load o' lies, if I say so…"

"I would not know…" she sighed. "From what I know, a pirate should never love. It is far too risky for any pirate to love anyone, even another pirate. I've seen men die every day since I've arrived here, pirate and naval officers alike…and they probably all have had been in love at one point. C-can you imagine—"

"I don't need ta imagine." Jones growled. "I'm livin' it. Love is not somethin' I'm concerned about. Damn the whole blasted emotion. Curse those who've ever felt it. And kill all o' those who're searching…"

Michelle quietly approached him from behind, and placed a single hand on his shoulder, in a sort of attempt to comfort him…but in a matter of seconds, she found herself wrapping her arms around the man's shoulders, with her head down.

Jones reached to her, and placed a hand upon hers…a real hand, with dry flesh, lacking sea life, tentacles and crab like appendages…it was true flesh. Jones laughed a bit, having felt the strange sensation he had felt near Anita. "It's strange what Yemana can do ta ye…"

Yemana: She is actually a real Cuban sea goddess, and was created by both African and Spanish slaves who weren't allowed to practice their own religions. My ideas of her being close with Calypso are my own, and from a tidbit of info I read on her, she seems as if she was "younger" one of the goddesses. She was associated with pearls, coral, sea-life, and motherhood. I like to see her being on the ship because she is "keeping the ship alive" by placing sea life through the ship and on its passengers. If you want to know more of what I know, just let me know.


	10. Dutchwoman

My apologies for the delay on this chapter. I was working on studying for my finals in school. I have four of them (all of my classes now) and I've been working hard at that. As well, as making this chapter good! Yay! I'm also having a bit of boyfriend problems, but it's something that'll be resolved soon. I was listening to "Man! I feel like a Woman!" at one point while writing this. It goes well for the most part. I think I might start looking for good music for y'all to listen to while reading this. Stuff that goes along pretty well, I'll try that for the next chapter. --Anna

Ch. 10

The crank slammed downed and sent a message to awaken the Kraken. Bootstrap had been sent to Sparrow's ship to notify him once more that his time was up, and this time, it wasn't a warning, it was an absolute meaning that it was _time_.

He had a dismal expression and was walking slowly, groaning to himself. "Bootstrap?" Michelle asked running up to him, as the crew gathered around to watch the distant destruction of the Black Pearl of sorts. "What's wrong?"

He waved a discolored hand at her, seeming to shoo her off. "Nothing…" he sighed. "Nothing at all."

"Bootstrap Bill, answer me." She snapped, grabbing his arm. "Something happened, didn't it?"

He shook his head, staring at her awkwardly. "My son…" he muttered. "He went pirate…"

Michelle's eyes widened. "W-was he on the ship?!" she asked. "Why didn't he come back with you?"

"No, he wasn't there…" Bootstrap sighed. "But he helped retrieve the _Pearl_ back for Sparrow."

"But, he's all right, right?" she asked. Bootstrap shook his head, unsure as to why.

"I don't know…" he said deeply.

There was a loud cheering, the distant splashing indicated the Kraken had found its target. Their work her was done.

"Chevelle." Jones grunted from a few meters away. He had grown accustomed to calling her 'Chevelle' around the rest of the crew. "Yer ta go on land." He demanded. "Go somewhere safe. Ye'll know when its time ta return."

She stared at him, unsure what he was insisting upon. "E-excuse me?" she asked. "Why?"

"Ye'll know." Jones said. "Now, go see Anita…She heard ye last night…"

"Heard what?" she asked. "Me outside?"

Jones laughed heartily. "Ye know what I mean." Michelle stared at him, unsure as to what he was speaking of.

"N-no, I don't." she quirked an eyebrow, but before she could continue once more, Jones shooed her off.

She passed the crew, nodding at each of them as she went to peer into Anita's room. "Captain said you wanted to see me."

"Damn right, I needed to see you!" Anita roared, as Michelle closed the door behind her. "You were standing outside the door when he was with me last night! How _dare_ you listen in on mine and his affairs!"

"I didn't mean to eaves drop…" she muttered. "Curiosity got the best of me."

"And it is the same as eaves dropping!" Anita spat, rising and stepping towards Michelle. "You now know the kind of person I am—"

"And allow me to guess that you would feel absolutely no regret about killing me now, would you?" Michelle snorted. She opened her arms wide, stepping away from the sea goddess. "By all means, go ahead—"

"I would if the Captain wouldn't be sure to hold me as more of a captive than I already am." Came Anita's reply. She reached into the side of her dress, pulling out a small pistol, and held it to underside of Michelle's chin. "And the moment I find out the crew knows of my identity, I will have you killed and fed to the foulest creatures of the ocean's depths…"

"So, that means I get to return here." Michelle retorted, smacking Anita's gun aside. Anita had a disgusted grimace on her face.

"You're sickening." She snarled. "You betray the little trust I gave you, and then you go off with my Captain, changing who he is entirely…To gain that man's trust is a mark against the sea. To gain his _approval_ is a mark against the earth itself."

Michelle eyed her strangely, getting the bizarre image of a man, with a chest length, scraggly, graying, tan beard, but she shook it off. "Pardon?" she asked.

Anita shook her head. "Go." She snorted. "Captain's waiting for you." She sat down at her table again, and seemed to conjure a light on a cerulean candle, and stared deep within the light. "I said go."

Michelle backed away, and on to the main deck once more, there was a long boat being lowered to the water below.

"Th' port is called Tortuga." Jones said suddenly from behind her. Michelle jumped, having not noticed him appear…

But when she turned, it was nothing like the man she had seen before. He was slimmer, with graying hair and a beard which had been put into little sections via beads. His clothing was loosely fit somehow, and both his hands were unchanged, both as human as hers. His eyes were sorrowful, and pained, he began to speak.

But before she could hear him speak, his image had returned. "Is somethin' the matter?" he asked her, almost gentlemanly.

"N-no." she said, heading for the ladder upon the side of the ship to the long boat. "But, how will I know if I'm heading in the right direction?" Jones pointed out to a large rock formation in the distance, possibly five miles or so away.

"That, girl, is Tortuga." He said. "Ye should be safe there fer th' time bein'."

"Safe?" she asked, starting to climb back up.

"Don' be worryin' 'bout that now." Jones assured her, as she began to descend again. "Ye'll know when to come back."

The sea swelled greatly as Michelle struggled just to row the small longboat, but even though the swells were great, the current was strong, there was a slight scent of life in the distance as the glowing lights from the port of Tortuga were growing closer.

It was the smell of fresh cooking and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. The thought of alcohol made her slightly sick to her stomach. She recalled having had a bit sitting with the Captain the night before. She also seemed to recall the Captain having touched her arm, and asking her if it felt like what she saw.

She ignored the thought, and continued to row to shore. She had often heard rumors of Tortuga. Especially from her father. It was a vile place, filled with drunks, prostitutes, and men who had just given up. It was a place, her father said, he hoped to never her of her being in. She hoped inside, that it was still the same now, over two years later.

The small boat docked, and Michelle tied it to a dock, knowing full well, it would probably get stolen. She could hear the drunken slander of men, and cheery music coming from a tavern, which she read, was called the Faithful Bride.

She walked along the streets of kegs, crates and drunks, but every so often, someone, sober or drunk, would look at her, with an amount of concern. The farther she continued, the farther people strayed…from her. As she passed shops, the each closed their curtains, or put up a closed sign. The only place that was not foreboding was the Faithful Bride…or…perhaps, she was the foreboding one.

Silently, she blended in with a small group, entering the tavern. She avoided looking at them all, knowing something was amiss. But as she, hidden amongst the group, entered the tavern, and the group dispersed…there was a long, unnerving silence.

That was, until, a man in the corner rose up, and shouted in a strange English dialect. "That's her!" he screamed. "The Dutchwoman!"

"Pardon?" she asked, as the people of the tavern, men, women, musicians, pirates, and sobers and drunks, all stared at her. "Je ne suis pas hollandaise."

"It's true…" another man said on the other side of the room. "Just as the s'vivors say…"

"Quoi?" she continued, hoping her façade of knowing little English might save her life once again. "Je ne sais pas…Qu'est-ce—" She noticed several pirates reaching for pistols and cutlasses.

"Ya can' be here." Another man said, rising from his seat, hand on his sword. "Tortuga doesn' welcome the dead."

"Je ne suis pas mort!" Michelle screamed. "I'm alive! I am!" More people began to rise, hands on swords, even some swords drawn.

"What's yer purpose in Tortuga, _Miss_." Another asked. "The _Dutchman_ runnin' low on crew? Did the beast ask ya ta come on land fer 'im ta get some fresh bodies?"

"Is he after more women to abuse?" a young girl, perhaps even younger than Michelle added.

"What's er purpose here!" someone shouted, firing a shot into the air.

"Yer a monster!"

"Get outta our port!"

"No one wants the undead in their town!"

Michelle snatched a pistol from one of the pirates surrounding her, and shot into the air, to silence the convictions. The bullet shot through a bottle, the glass breaking seeming to be more of a shock than the actual firing.

"My name is _Michelle Chevelle_." She snorted. "My father is Capitain Chevelle, and he presides rule of a ninth of these waters. I am in no way, a deceased member of the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_." She paused, seeing a few men put away their weapons. "However…" The weapons came out again. "I am there of my own free will."

"Shoot her!" someone commanded from the back. "Kill the lyin' wench!"

"Shoot me for all I care!" Michelle barked, opening her arms wide. "I've lived a full life! Even if I die by the hand of you pirates, there's always a way that I'll return!"

Weapons were hidden again, and the various people around her, seeming to understand the threat, took their seats again.

"I was traded to the _Dutchman_. I'm collateral until my father is willing to pay his debt to _Davy Jones_." A few people gasped. A few people began to chant something. "I've had my chance to leave. But I have not taken it. Why? Because who else in the bloody ocean can say that they are _free_ while working on the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_." She smiled, walking past a few tables. "And I see that it really has given me a reputation!"

She took a seat at an empty table in an unlit area, and smiled to herself. There was no denying it now. Michelle was no longer Michelle Belard, the upperclass daughter of a government official in Martinique. She was now Michelle Chevelle, daughter of one of the most feared pirates in the ocean, the _friend_ of _the_ most feared pirate, and most of all…She was a pirate.

The sliding of metal, and she quickly yanked out her sword, and clashed it up against the opposing one. It was the first man. He was still unconvinced that she was not there to harm anyone. Most of the people in the room had decided that it was safe to trust her for now.

"They may be comf'rable." He growled. "But I'm not lettin' no _Dutchman_ scum stay in my town!" He was an ugly son of a bitch. He spoke as if he was a monster, but he was lanky and thin, with a light brown shirt open over his chest, with a few belts strewn across his body. He hadn't bathed recently, that was obviously, and neither had he shaved, or done something about the horrendous odor of his mouth. All in all, he was foul. He made the crew of the _Dutchman_ seem like noblemen.

Michelle swung her sword so hers was hanging loosely. "I can guarantee you something." She replied with equal, dark sincerity. "One out of every three men in this room will swear an oath to the _Dutchman_. One of those men, will most likely, as not, be you. And when that time comes, you'll be wishing that you had never spoken unkindly towards the _Dutchwoman_ as you say."

The man laughed uneasily. "Then it'd be best if I just ended up killin' ya now, huh?" The man jabbed his sword at Michelle's chest, and laughed, saying. "Let's see yer Captain take yer body back after I'm done with ya!" The sword aimed closer, but there was the loud, estranged echo of pistol fire.

The man suddenly dropped his sword, and clutched his chest. The light, fleshy brown color of the shirt began to turn a disgusting maroon color as blood began to pour from the entry wound. He grasped at his skin, and before he could even speak another word, he fell over. Dead.

"Women are not to be treated as criminals." A prestigious, eloquent voice said. "Even if they _are_ a criminal." There stood a man, dressed extremely dashingly compared to the rest of the men Michelle had scene that day. His clothing was brighter, and maintained far better, with a sort of regal charm to them. Upon his head sat a military hat, commonly worn by the men of the British Navy, as well as a poorly maintained powdered wig. It was the only thing not kept clean. He had a pistol held in hand, pointed forward at the spot where Michelle's could-have-been attacker stood, in his other, a bottle, filled with what was obviously rum.

Michelle's eyes lit up, and she knew, even with the unsuitable bottle of rum, that the man who had just saved her life, was none other, than the British Gentleman: James Norrington.


	11. What Happens in Tortuga

For those of you who would prefer to see some MichellexNorrington, a little more than MichellexDavy, you're in luck. You'll like this chapter. I have a bunch of little jokes hidden in this one. Especially a Murtogg and Mullroy joke. You'll get it if you saw AWE. Also, there's an amusing little bit near the end of this. Sorry for the lack of details, I have one more final left. Also, I have a song I recommend for this. It's a bit of a dirty song, but it's got a LOT of feminine empowerment to it. It's called "My Leftovers" by Porcelain and the Tramps. It's a really good song, despite the non-stop innuendos and sex talk...Haha. Anyways, Elizabeth and co. come in the next chaper. --Anna

Ch.11

The former commodore approached Michelle, putting his pistol away, and taking a seat at the table with her. She was beaming, please to see him. He clearly, wasn't as pleased.

"Do tell," he said. "why is it that you, of all people are in Tortuga…of all places." Michelle had three options, tell him the truth, stretch the truth, or flat out lie.

"It's hard to explain." She said softly. "It has a lot to do with my father, and, well…See…"

"He's a pirate, I know that much all ready." Norrington interrupted. "He had to tell me when you _vanished_." He leaned in closer to the table, his face approaching Michelle's as he point an accusing finger at her. "What exactly happened that night, Michelle? There was cannon-fire for all of five minutes, and after the firing ceased, you were nowhere to be found."

"They took me." She said quickly. "My father had a debt to settle aboard the _Dutchman_, and he was too cowardly to fess up into it, and traded me for an extension."

"The _Flying Dutchman_?" Norrington asked. "I can understand the drunks around me fearing it, but not you. The both of us are too educated to believe in such myths."

"But it's real." Michelle came back. "And I'm part of its crew. The _Flying Dutchman_ is a real ship, James. Just as real as you and I are among the living—"

"If you say you truly are a part of its crew, then how am I to believe you _are_ living?" Norrington added. "The crew of the _Dutchman_ are said to be the deceased."

"Please, James." Michelle pleaded. "I'm not dead. The crew of the _Dutchman_ are only men who are dying who wish to postpone their deaths. And furthermore…they're _fishpeople_!" Norrington rolled his eyes. "James!" she shouted, noticing his disinterest. She reached over the table, and grabbed his arm, holding his hand up, she placed his index finger on her neck. "Can't you feel the pulse? I'm not dead, James."

Norrington pulled his arm away from her. "It's suitable…for now." He took a swig from the rum bottle he had been holding in his other hand. "But what is the captain of the _Dutchman_ doing, by sending you to Tortuga?"

Michelle shrugged. "Damned if I know." Norrington sighed a bit, commenting about her language. "It's not all bad." She assured him. "In fact, it's getting to the point where it's remotely enjoyable." Norrington pulled out a small knife, sending a shiver through her body.

"It's not for you." Norrington reassured her, as he stabbed the wooden table with it, carving out a small chunk of the wood. Michelle was suddenly distracted by smashing of a bottle against the wall. She watched as a few men began to fight. "But it is now." Michelle felt the cold metal of the knife against the back of her neck. "Get up, Michelle."

Slowly, she rose, knowing the slightest move could send the knife through her neck. "You're on their side." She muttered, as Norrington yanked his sleeve up and placed his arm around the girl's shoulders, to conceal the knife. They began to walk out of the tavern, and once they were outside, Norrington dropped the knife from her neck, and tucked it in at his side.

"Not at all." He confessed. "But they were listening too much, it's safer out here."

Michelle laughed, her back turned to Norrington. "So, the _streets_ of Tortuga are safer than their buildings?" She looked over her shoulder to Norrington, quickly yanking out her sword. "I guess I might have to change that, if you don't tell me what the _hell_ you're doing here, _Sir_."

The man backed away, raising his hands slowly. "Michelle, be reasonable." He begged. "This isn't a matter to kill someone over."

"It is on the _Dutchman_." She snarled, stepping closer to him. "Now, explain yourself, or you'll know the sting of steel in your stomach."

"Can't we do this somewhere more…" he looked around. "More private? We are in the middle of a street."

Michelle sheathed her sword. "Find somewhere, quick." She growled. "Or I'll be reporting to the Captain that we have a new deckhand."

Norrington groaned. "You think I would accept such an atrocious deal as to work upon a ship of the dead until the end of time?"

"A hundred years, to be exact." She corrected, as Norrington lead her to a small, rickety wooden staircase, which lead down to the basement of a winery. "You live in a basement?" she asked.

"It's a luxury compared to the living space the majority of the men of Tortuga live in." he said, rather impressed with himself.

"Lovely…" Michelle said sarcastically. The room she shared with Anita on the _Flying Dutchman_ was more luxurious. She suddenly unsheathed her sword as Norrington latched the heavy wooden door behind him, hiding them from the world. "Where were we?" she asked, using the little light she had to step forward, poking Norrington in the chest. "Yes, what are you _doing_ in Tortuga?"

He pressed the top of the sword down, having Michelle lower it. "It's nothing you need to get violent over." He sighed, looking at her with saddened eyes. Norrington stepped towards the girl, almost backing her into the wall. "I chased a man who had me lose a portion of my dignity in the Royal Navy." He began, wrapping his arms around the thin wrists of Michelle holding her against the wall. "And I followed him all over the world, Michelle. I lost everything in that chase. My title, my commission, my dignity, my life…I lost you too."

Michelle yanked a bit. "Ye neva' 'ad me in th' firs' place." She snorted, sounding as pirate like as she could. "You could have." She returned to normal speech. "But you never pursued me once I was taken, _you_ are the reason _you_ lost me." She pushed Norrington away, ripping her wrists away. "Consider that? Consider that it was your fault that you lost everything?" She raised her sword again. "How about it? Have you _once_ thought it was your own fault? I consider that it was my fault for ending up on the _Dutchman _and going pirate, but, after all…I am a pirate, and I don't really care about what _could_ have been."

Norrington drew a sword as well, and slid it along Michelle's sword in protest. "I do not want to fight you, Michelle." He warned. "I will beat you, it's not worth it."

"Really now?" Michelle snapped, swinging her sword so she had it loose and could swing it at a split second. "Because I would think that a man who lost everything would have lost his ability to fight!" She swung, seeing Norrington hold it back with his own blade.

She stepped forward, Norrington stepped back. He swung at her. She held it back. He stepped forward a bit, but stopped mid step as Michelle jabbed at his chin, stopping as the tip of her blade was at his through. He backed away, trying to step from the sword, but as he stepped to the side, she followed, until she had Norrington backed into a corner.

"This is what rum does to you." She laughed. "You lose all perception of battle. That's why we seldom drink on the _Dutchman_. It's more organized than you'd think." She smiled vaguely. "So, should I just kill you now, or perhaps I should learn the ways of holding hostages, eh?"

"Do what you want." Norrington agreed. "Just as long as you don't leave this room, until I've decided I can let you go." He dropped his sword to the floor, and placed his hand on Michelle's cheek. "Your English has improved so much…you don't even sound French now."

Suddenly Michelle dropped her sword as well, and stared at him, noticing how morbid the man still looked. "I really _am_ a pirate…" she muttered. "I'm sorry, James."

His hand lingered upon her cheek for a moment, before dropping to her neck, and sliding up to the back of her head. He ran his fingers through her hair for a moment, realizing how short it had become. "As am I…" he sighed. "I should have seen you back to your home…"

Michelle shook her head. "It would have been inevitable." She replied. "My father was trading me to Jones, they would have killed you if you fought them. They—" Before she could finish, she found her lips connected to Norrington's. Thought hesitant, she leaned into the kiss, and wrapped her arms around the former Commodore's neck. It seemed right, he had planned to marry when she was kidnapped…and maybe, even now that they were both fugitives of sorts, it could still happen.

OOO

She sat up quickly, and realized she was undressed, and lying in a crudely made bed. To her side, laid the body of James Norrington, asleep and presumably undressed as well. Michelle began to speak quickly to herself in French. Her problem as to where she was going to spend the prior night had been solved…but, this wasn't what she bargained for.

Though…she had to admit, of what she could remember, it was quite entertaining. She remembered laughing a lot, as well as drinking. Apparently Norrington had a stash of rum in the room, and had offered her a substantial amount, and he too had had a bit too much.

She laughed a bit, holding the thin blanket up over her chest, and wondered what Jones would think if she told him that she had a wild night having sex with her once fiancé…of sorts. It would probably have been a bad idea to tell the Captain of such affairs, she probably would have been killed.

Michelle saw her clothing sitting in a heap a few feet from the bed, and quietly snuck up to the garments and redressed herself. She thought, as she dressed, that she might be able to escape returning to the _Dutchman_ if she stayed here. She could board another ship, and probably manage to sail to the land of North America, and avoid pirates and ships, and the ocean all together.

She found a small scrap of paper and a quill with ink and wrote Norrington a small note, declaring that she had not left, but went out to see how different Tortuga was in the daylight hours. She smiled to herself, and thought _What happens in Tortuga, stays in Tortuga_.

But within moments of stepping outside, she heard people clamoring about. Nothing more, than an impressive ship had made port. However, unlike the rest of the people, Michelle saw the ship and began to find herself thoroughly annoyed.

It was the _Black Pearl_. It meant that the Kraken had never indeed found its target. Undoubtedly, its infamous captain, Jack Sparrow, was probably on board. There was a strange booming from various sailors that were abound. Jack Sparrow needed more crewmen. Michelle smiled. This was what Jones meant…He wanted her to join Sparrow's crew.


	12. Stowaway

Even _though_ I got a review stating that I have got Jack sparrow "fked up" I'm still writing. The majority of my readers who I have asked, as well as my friends, have all stated that I may have one of the most accurate Jack Sparrow's in fanfiction. Anyways, this is a bit of a filler chapter, nothing _too_ exciting. Things'll get to be fun again next chapter. More easter eggs and hidden jokes in this one, as well, as some direct quotes! Yay me! --Anna

Ch 12.

Michelle entered the Faithful Bride. It was quiet this morning. A few men were asleep, slouched over tables, or tipped back on chairs, others just collapsed on the floor. The man James shot was gone though. Someone had the common sense to remove him. The only people in the tavern were a few women, who were cleaning a bit, and a few men sitting at a lone table, playing a card game.

She craned her neck a bit and saw that it was a game of poker, they were betting strange little artifacts, such as what looked like wooden needles, beads, and charms. "Excuse me." She asked one of the men who was playing. He turned quickly, pointing a pistol at her. "Don't shoot!" she said quickly. "I was just curious as to what you were playing for." The man lowered his pistol slowly.

"It's poker, Dutchwoman." He growled. Michelle rolled her eyes, deciding she didn't like the name. The man had a thick, Spanish accent. "Or should I say _French_ woman. I can tell by your accent."

This was exactly what Michelle wanted, yet another Spaniard who didn't like her for being French. The man on the other side of the table rose. He was a short man, with a neatly trimmed, graying beard, and a sharply fixed mustache. His flesh was tan compared to hers, despite how she had always lived on an island, and had been at sea for almost two years. He removed a large hat that was placed upon his head and bowed to Michelle. "Why don't you join us?" he said, in barely audible English which was muffled by Spanish dialect.

"I don't gamble." She replied. "But thank you for the offer." The man laughed, and placed his hat back on, and gestured to a rickety wooden chair next to him.

"Then as a friendly game among pirates. No stakes." He offered, as he picked up what appeared to be the top of a bottle, wound in string. The other pirates stared at Michelle as she hesitated to sit. It was as if she had offended them. After a moment or two longer of the glares, she took the seat, and smiled, almost uneasily.

The man had started to deal out cards again until everyone had five in their hand. "Have you played before?" the man asked.

Michelle shook her head and looked at her cards. She knew the basics…If it weren't for the damn two of hearts, she would have been dealt a Royal Flush. "No, but I know how to play." She scanned her cards…King, Queen, Ace…Ten…It hit her!

She shifted a bit, and dropped her Two of Hearts to the floor. Apologizing, she climbed down on to the floor, and carefully slid out the Jack of Spades her father gave her. Smiling, she hid the Two of Hearts and climbed back to her seat.

"I apologize." She muttered, relatively pleased, internally at least, that she had switched her cards. Two of the men said they were out already, leaving her, the man who invited her, and the man who threatened her.

The man who threatened her began to look uneasy, revealed his hand, two pairs, and declared he was out. That now left Michelle and the other man.

"I think she cheated." He said, grabbing Michelle's hand and slamming the cards on the table. "Ha!" he shouted. "She was cheating! Her Jack is different!" The first man to go out, pulled out a Jack of Spades from his old hand and raised it.

"Cheater!" he roared. "Shoot her!" The men all pulled out pistols and pointed them at Michelle. However, the man who invited her, swore at them in Spanish, and took Michelle's Jack.

"Where did you get this!" he snapped at Michelle, waving the playing card in her face. "What are you doing with a Piece of Eight? Has Chevelle died?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by a Piece of Eight, but Chevelle is my father, and according to my knowledge, he is alive." She snatched the card from him, and slid it back in her sleeve. "And what is it to you?"

The man said nothing, but he suddenly whipped out a knife and threw it into the table, lodging it in. "Your _father_ has robbed my ships, killed my men and _shamed_ my name."

Michelle laughed. "Ah, so _you're_ Villanueva." She said. "No wonder your men don't like me. I am not here to start a fight with you, I'm just here because my Captain wants me here."

"Your Captain is a filthy, disgraceful man." One of Villanueva's men snapped.

"That's where you're wrong." Michelle said, backing away from the group of men. "My father is not my Captain. My Captain is aboard the _Dutchman_." The men all silenced. "Remember that next time." She warned, backing off, and leaving the tavern, before running off back to Norrington's _home_.

She returned to him, only half dressed, his naturally dark hair strewn about his face, a bottle of rum situated in his hands.

"You're really enjoying life here, aren't you?" she said, seeing the man, sit down on the edge of the bed.

"Not enjoying it, really." He confessed. "More like surviving life here." Norrington set the bottle of rum on the floor.

"Jack Sparrow is in port." She said. "You know of him? Perhaps we could leave and board with him." Norrington spat out a swig of rum he had taken in before she had started speaking.

"To side with Sparrow is for me to lose whatever I have left." Norrington sighed regrettably.

"And your point is?" Michelle hissed. "You have a grudge against pirates, James? Too bad, you are one. An upstanding gentleman doesn't just go off to Tortuga because he wants to make it with a few women and have an excuse to not be sober." She sighed, almost happily. "Well, do what you want, I'm going to see if I can leave with him."

"So, am I worth to serve under _Captain_ _Jack Sparrow_?" Norrington asked the riled crowd of the Faithful Bride. He turned, catching the glimpse of a walking plant. "Or should I just kill you now?"

The leaves of the walking plant parted, revealing the smug grin of the infamous pirate. "You're hired." He greeted. Norrington pulled back on his raised pistol.

"Sorry, old habits and all that." Two men ran up to Norrington, and shouted about how it was their captain they were shooting at. Norrington fired, the bullet ricocheted off the chandelier, against the wall, before shattering someone's bottle of rum.

The man punched the closest man near him, and the band began to play. The music was lively and cheerful, and the clashing of swords against one another played along nicely.

Michelle jumped out from behind a table, and fought past a few men to get up to the former commodore, and had his back…to an extent. Norrington was extremely drunk, and had lost all sense of who was siding with him or not. She raised her sword, and found it clashing against that of a rather effeminate looking man. The two of them stared at each other for just a moment, before releasing the pressure on their swords, and focusing on other people around them.

There was sudden silence, except for Norrington shouting about how he could take on everyone there. The effeminate man she saw a moment earlier, grabbed the rum bottle from his hand and in a swift move, cracked the bottle over his head.

A large group of men picked up Norrington's body and carried him to a small doorway, which lead to a room outside, filled with mud and a few pigs. They swung a few times, before heaving him out into the pit. The men laughed at Norrington's body landed, and they left him in the grime.

And there, once again, was the effeminate man. He walked forward, ignoring Michelle, and crouched down over Norrington. He sighed, and spoke, in a voice, which was far too feminine. "James Norrington…" he said. "What has the world done to you?"

He looked at her with the same anguished eyes as he had with Michelle. "Elizabeth…" he croaked hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

Michelle wasn't entirely shocked. The effeminate man, was a woman. She decided to interject. "Oh, so you know each other?" she said. "Well, hasn't the past day been just full of reunions for you, huh, James?"

Norrington began to stand up again, as the woman Elizabeth helped him from the muck on the floor. "Who would you be?" she asked Michelle. "I should have the right to ask you the same question."

"Ladies." Norrington interrupted, noticing the slight animosity between the girls, as well as some envy in the mix. "Perhaps there is a better place for you two to talk?"

"I think here is fine." Michelle said darkly. "I can wait to speak with Sparrow."

"Why do _you_ need to speak with him?" Elizabeth asked, starting to pull out a sword.

"Ladies." Norrington coughed, this time more firmly, feeling that he might have been the reason for two girls to seem to have an instant dislike for each other. "How about we find Sparrow, the both of you could speak to him, and then, we can finish answering questions?"

Elizabeth let her sword slide back into its scabbard. "Lead the way, James."

The three walked along a narrow deck, with many hustling pirates boarding the _Black Pearl_ with various cargo. Michelle began to push ahead from Norrington and Elizabeth, but stopped, and told them to give her a minute.

She barged up to Jack Sparrow, who saw her, and grimaced sickeningly. "You." She snapped. "Why are you still alive?"

Sparrow made a face, a quirky, expressionless one. "I've got m' ways." He said arrogantly. "What'd you want, Miss Squid." Michelle, inside was ready to scream. Dutchwoman was tolerable, but Miss Squid was offensive. "Money? If you need money, I can't help you. Or, perhaps…" he grinned at her suggestively. "Now that you are indeed, a Tortugan woman, you'll reconsider my offer." He smirked and quirked an eyebrow, which was supposed to be seen as attractive. Sparrow smiled, showing off a golden tooth. Michelle could never understood why pirates though that teeth coated in metal was attractive.

She had a wonderful answer to his question, instead, she responded with one of her own. "Did you ever find that Turkish Prison?" Sparrow smiled, almost joyously, and pointed at her, almost in congrats.

"Yes, I did!" he declared firmly. "And I must say, your curiosity in _why_ wanted to go there, really did help. So, thank you _ma chere._"

"Time to cut the small talk." Michelle said, changing the subject. "I'm joining your crew. End of story." Sparrow smiled, then frowned, before smiling once more, then frowning and looking at the man behind him.

"Mr. Gibbs." He said to the man, rather portly, with grey hair and a beard. "What do _you_ think about allowing the daughter of a Pirate Lord on to my ship?" he asked.

"It seems a bit risky, Cap'n." was the response. "An' there's the whole part about you owin' all o' the Pirate Lords a bit of money…Havin' one o' their daughters killed could cause ya a lot more trouble—"

"I can keep Jones from setting his leviathan upon you." Michelle said quickly. "I can assure you won't be harmed."

Sparrow laughed. "Why would I need _you_ when I have a jar of dirt?" he chuckled. Apparently he was the only one laughing, no one else clearly finding the comment amusing.

Michelle began to speak again, as she stepped around Sparrow, almost as if she was going to encircle him. "I guess it seems as if I'm not needed here…" she muttered, almost dismally.

"Captain Sparrow—" interjected the voice of the woman Elizabeth. It was just as if she was trying to help Michelle. For all she knew, the girl was. "I'm looking for the man I love."

The color from Sparrow's face fell and he looked uneasy. "I'm deeply flattered son, but my first and only love is the sea." Michelle glanced over at Elizabeth, who had Norrington behind her, the two of them both seemed to give her a glance that said that she needed to take a risk.

So, with quick, fancy footwork, Michelle blended in with some of the new crewmen, and boarded the ship. This time, she was neither there as a hostage, or crew, but this time, as a stowaway.


	13. Better Spoken AND Cleaner

**Corny chapter! Lucky number 13, cross your fingers and knock on wood I don't get flamed! I hope I have Elizabeth mostly in character. She's hard to keep that way. I've had to delete half the things she said and rewrite them just for it to make sense for her. I think the ending of this chapter is touching. More for the NorringtonxMichelle fans too --Anna**

Ch. 13

Michelle darted past crewmen, none of whom she recognized, knowing that if Sparrow refused to let Norrington on to the ship, she might never see him again. She looked in all directions, just hoping that someone wouldn't report her existence to Sparrow.

Of course, she was looking in all directions but forward, and found herself bumping into a rather tall, lanky man. She looked up and began to apologize, only to see one of his eyes pop out and fall on to the deck. Michelle let out a minute scream and maneuvered around him…hoping that it was just a wooden eye.

A second later, she heard the orders from Sparrow, and she ran down the stairs to below deck, and stayed unseen for the time being. She found herself among men working at securing cannons and cargo from moving about. She slammed into the wall, as one man pushed her aside. "Outta ma way, boy!" he snorted.

It struck Michelle, suddenly. Her hair was short enough to be the length of a boys her age…But she paused, and looked down at her chest, realizing that if her breasts just weren't protruding, she'd pass for a boy. Carefully, holding her breasts down as best she could for the time being, with her arm, she pushed past the men below deck before she found herself at a staircase leading to the crews quarters.

It seemed like the safest place at the time, so she quickly descended the stairs, deciding the hide there until she could find something to use to flatten her breasts. She was amused on how her name could still be used as a boy's name, just subtracting one of the L's. Then, her name would simply be equivalent to Michael. She laughed a bit, as she browsed the cabin for something to help her.

"Why're you here?" Michelle turned to see the girl Elizabeth, having had descended the stairs.

"Why is anyone here?" Michelle replied.

"Some of us are here to serve under Jack Sparrow, some of us have other reasons." Elizabeth said darkly. "You're _not_ here to be part of Jack's crew, are you?"

"Oh no." Michelle gasped sarcastically. "I've been discovered. Well, you're not here to be part of his crew either, are you? What would girls as well spoken as ourselves be doing on a pirate ship anyways? There's no _legitimate_ answer to that, wouldn't you say?"

"What's your name?" Elizabeth asked, avoiding Michelle's question on if their being on Sparrow's ship was legitimate.

"Michelle Belard…or, Chevelle rather." She introduced. "And you would be?"

"Elizabeth Swann." She replied, repeating Michelle's name. "Are you of the Belard's of Martinique?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "Are you of Port Royal?" she asked. Elizabeth gave a slight nod, before Michelle began laughing. "What do you know! Two daughters of some of the most influential people in the Caribbean, are pirates!"

Elizabeth smiled a bit, almost sarcastically. "I guess you could say that. But why the other name? Chevelle?"

"Long story." Michelle said. "But you helped me. You distracted Sparrow so I could board…" She sat on top of a crate in the cabin. "Why?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms a paced a bit, walking around a few loose hammocks for the crew. "James told me to. His motives have always been good, so, I thought it would be best." She glanced at Michelle with her wide, chocolate brown eyes. "Just out of curiosity, why are you here?"

"Here meaning on the _Pearl_ or out at sea?" she asked. "My business on here is rather personal, so I'll tell you another time. At sea however…" she sighed, and pulled out the Jack of Spades and flipped it around in between her fingers. "Blame my father."

Elizabeth sat down next to Michelle on the crate. "What happened?" she asked, softly.

Michelle shrugged, wishing she had something to drink. "He just…" she paused, starting to get bored of telling the story over and over again. "Traded my life for his."

"I'm sorry he did that." Elizabeth replied quickly. "I don't want to sound rude, or like I'm bragging, but, I was scheduled for a hanging, and my father did what was in his power to save me."

"Well, your father isn't a pirate." Michelle snorted.

"Excuse me?"

"My father _may_ have used the name 'Belard', but his real last name is Chevelle, and he's a dirty pirate, who traded me to save his own arse." She grunted. "Your father is, and always will be a noble man, but mine…he's just a coward."

"See, but cowardice, is just one of the factors of being a pirate, eh? You fight and swashbuckle a bit, and the moment there's a window of opportunity to escape, you take it." Came the almost sadistic sounding mocking of Jack Sparrow. He approached Michelle, and made it seem as if he was going to punch her in the chest, instead, he just reached out at her and poked her on the nose. "I don't recall actually agreeing to allowing you to join my crew?" He continued. "Convince me, right now, why I shouldn't toss you overboard."

Michelle sat in thought for a moment. She had no legitimate answer that Sparrow would believe and find acceptable. If she said that Davy Jones wanted her here, he'd kill her in an instant.

"She's with me." Came yet another voice. It was James Norrington, having had been eavesdropping. It was obvious he was turning pirate. He had all the signs.

"You, out, now." Sparrow ordered. "I have you on deck word, now go back." He waved his arms at Norrington, taking large steps toward him. "Shoo! Out, get to work!"

"Jack." Elizabeth interrupted. "She really is with him." Michelle silently praised Elizabeth for helping.

"She's with _him_, eh?" Sparrow laughed. "Oh, so do tell, when's the wedding? I love weddings. Oh, and a pirate wedding too, that should be just lovely." He paused with a slight look of disgust on his face as he glanced back at Michelle. "You turned me down for…_that_?!"

Michelle gave him a face, and rose from the crate, going over to stand on the stairs with the former commodore. "Is it so wrong that I prefer a man who doesn't have gold teeth?" Sparrow had a bit of a hurt expression on his face.

"But…he puts rum to bad use." Sparrow complained. Elizabeth got up as well and joined Michelle with Norrington.

"Well, if drinking the rum is bad, then I guess you must be using rum the wrong way as well." Elizabeth added, as she ascended the stairs, leaving Michelle with Norrington, with Jack Sparrow.

"In addition to that," Michelle said. "If the jar of dirt breaks, I'm still aboard." Norrington looked at her with a quizzical expression about the dirt. Michelle shrugged, confessing she had no idea what that meant.

Sparrow's expression fell. "Fine, stay." He snorted, "Just…don't make me…" he paused. "Die."

Sparrow pushed past Norrington, causing the man to follow. "Sparrow, what do you mean by _die_?"

ooo

Michelle sat on one of the steps of one of the few staircases on the deck of the _Black Pearl_ with Elizabeth. The two girls were lounging a bit, resting from working in the hot sun. Usually Michelle was used to this, but her body was sore from her night with Norrington back in Tortuga.

"How do you know James?" Michelle asked Elizabeth, as the one pirate with the wooden eye chased after a monkey who had his eye within its furry little paws.

"He was aboard the ship I was on as we crossed from England to Port Royal." Elizabeth began, adjusting her hat to block out the sun. "I grew up with him. In fact, about a year ago, he proposed to me."

Michelle nearly choked on her saliva. "You too?" she asked, feeling as if her heart was shattering. "About _two_ years ago, he proposed to me."

Elizabeth laughed, as they watched the pirate finally retrieve his eye. He spat on it to clean it off a bit, and then pushed it back into his empty eye socket. "It seems as if he's obsessed with proposals." Elizabeth laughed. "Were you going to say yes?"

"Of course." Michelle said. "Granted, I had only known him for a day before he proposed, and I was out at sea when he did, and I so wanted to go home and say yes." They noticed Norrington lift his head from his work at that moment. "What about you?"

"I'm not sure." Elizabeth confessed. "I was a bit concerned at the time about not being able to breathe." Michelle laughed. "Yes, the corset I was wearing was a bit to tight around the waist. The heat didn't help much either."

Michelle laughed again, seeing Norrington going back to focus on his work. "He knows a bit of French, you know." She hinted. "At first, the only way we could speak was either with either me or him pointing or with the minute amount of the others language that we knew." Michelle smiled a bit in his direction. "Did you ever fancy him?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not in a romantic sort of ways." Elizabeth said. "I love someone else."

"Really?" Michelle muttered, suddenly finding herself thinking about Davy Jones. "What is his name?"

"William Turner." She said. Michelle blinked.

"Pardon?"

"William Turner. He's…" Elizabeth smiled and laughed a little. "Absolutely perfect for me in every way." Michelle smiled a bit as well. "He's stopped at nothing to save me."

"You're quite lucky." She admitted. "To have a man who'd do anything to save you. It must be nice." Michelle stretched out a bit on the stairs and stared off into the brilliant, azure sky, specked with flecks of white, puffy clouds. "It's interesting…Here we both are, women, and pirates…And yet, love is still a powerful concern within our hearts."

"Well, we are women." Elizabeth agreed. "But I wonder if any of the men aboard here, are just as concerned about love as we are?"

"James is." Michelle confirmed. "When he asked me what I was doing here…he said that he lost me." She sat up, and looked in his direction. "I think he's afraid actually, afraid he's going to die alone at this point."

"He had me speak up for you." Elizabeth recalled. "He probably has feelings for you. I'm sure he does. He keeps looking back here at you."

Michelle giggled. "It can't be me. It's probably you. You're so much…wealthier, prettier, better spoken…_cleaner_. It can't be me he's looking at, he's looking at you."

Elizabeth seemed to smile at the thought. "I doubt it." She stated. "He told me how he killed someone just to save you. Will did that for me, and now, James is doing it for you."

Michelle sat in silence for a moment. She was able to tell from the moment she met James Norrington that he was a gentleman. But now, even though he had lost those standards, he was still treating her the same, polite and kind as ever. No man just goes up and kills someone for threatening someone, instead, they usually speak to them. Though killing someone was clearly ungentlemanly, it was still done to protect her.

She found herself smiling, then, blushing as she thought of her night with him. It hadn't been strenuous, or fearful, or displeasuring in any way. In fact, she remembered it being quite happy, and to an extent, entertaining. It then occurred to her, that maybe, just maybe, Davy Jones sent her off on this venture, because of his knowledge of James Norrington…And that he wanted Michelle to get married.


	14. Still Not Understanding the Dirt

Not too fond of this chapter. I didn't work very hard on it, didn't even TRY keeping people in character, didn't focus on grammar…Why? I broke up with my boyfriend, and I'm depressed. I also need a job and I have to make 100 plushies in 10 days. My apologies for grammar (or lack thereof) and OOCness. Because of my craptastic mood, don't flame me, it's all…accidental. (More dirt stuff too) --Anna

Ch. 14

Michelle found her body pressed against the wall of the empty crew's cabin, hands wrapped around her wrist, and warm breath upon her neck. Every free moment she and James Norrington had, they were hidden from the rest of the crew, together, and getting in what time they could before they were summoned back on deck. Her heart pounded when she was around him. It was strange, they had met as influential people in society, and now, they had met as pirates, and the same sensation was visible.

But still, while out at sea, with the crew of Jack Sparrow and the _Black Pearl_, Michelle could not help but think of how she might be betraying her captain on the _Flying Dutchman_. There was an uneasy sense of betrayal among the crew, almost screaming as if everyone in the crew was a traitor…Not just herself.

ooo

"I have to go back…" she said to Norrington, as she helped him in scrubbing the deck.

"Back where?" he asked. "Tortuga?" Michelle shook her head, as she took Norrington's rag from his hand.

"No, the _Dutchman_." She corrected, soaking the rag.

"You know, I can't believe you were really upon that ship." Norrington sighed.

Michelle smiled as she roughly scrubbed the deck, before smacking him with the rag. "I feel like I shouldn't be here, James. Like, I do not belong here." She stopped, as he placed his hand on hers, taking the rag from her.

"As passé as it sounds, I believe you belong where ever I am." He purred, sounding just as courteous as ever. Michelle smiled at him, and shook her head, chidingly.

"You seem to think flattery will always work." She laughed. "It's not always the best method."

There was a sort of cough, signalizing an interruption. Jack Sparrow was standing over them, giving them the sort of look a disapproving parent would give one of their children after being caught doing something inappropriate. "Do ya mind if I deprive you of your dearly beloved?" he asked Norrington.

Norrington motioned a hand at Sparrow, allowing him to speak to Michelle. Sparrow seemed to find their little rendezvous' interesting. Michelle rose from the deck, leaving Norrington behind, embarrassed that Sparrow was considering her his 'dearly beloved.'

"Yes?" Michelle asked, as she followed him to the helm. "You need to see me?" Sparrow smiled as he strolled along the deck, approaching the helm of the ship, wrapping his hands around the wheel.

"I'm just curious." Sparrow said, as Michelle stood next to him, and stared out into the open ocean. "You're always around the former commodore. Do I sense a bit of a romantic tension between the both of you?" He said the word romantic with a flourish, attempting to humor Michelle's French heritage by speaking with a French accent.

"There's nothing more than him proposing to me a few years ago." Michelle snorted. "But, at the time, I couldn't formally accept, and we never went through with it."

"Would you still marry him, given the opportunity?" Sparrow asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow. He stared off at Norrington, who was still busy scrubbing. "What do you see in the man, anyways? If a pirate is what you're looking for, why didn't you just accept my offer that time you came floating over from the _Dutchman_?"

"I wasn't looking for a pirate." Michelle growled. "I wasn't even looking. If I had been, I would have sought out someone of James Norrington's character long ago."

"Ironic, eh?" Sparrow continued. "That the man who proposed to ya, years ago, is back with you, and the both of you are pirates, and it seems as if he's willing to once again."

Michelle sighed and leaned against the wheel, causing Sparrow to have some difficulty turning it to his favor with the current and wind. "I don't have time for marriage now." She snorted. "I've got too much I need to do."

"And what would that be, darlin'?" he asked. "I haven't a clue about you. You show up here, at one point, and play that entire sweet, innocent 'my ship sank' act, and then threaten my life, and months later, here you are again, only joinin' because of your dear, former Commodore."

"Who ever said he was the reason I wanted to join?" she asked, darkly. "Possibly, I joined for another reason, which could've meant life or death for me, or the people upon this ship."

"I already told ya, love." Sparrow grinned. "Why would I need you, when I have dirt?"

"What in God's name is with the dirt?" she asked.

Sparrow's grinned had remained unmoving. "It's dirt. It's one of natures most magical substances. Some of it is made from animal manure. Fascinating stuff, dirt is."

"It'd be lovely if you could just end whatever you're saying a sentence early." Michelle grumbled, feeling a bit sick at the thought of manure. "If you really want to know," she continued, referring to Sparrow's question as to why she was there. "I don't know. I was never told why I had to leave the _Dutchman_, and I was never told what would be achieved by my leaving—"

"Now that I recall, dear." Sparrow said, using another pet name, in what seemed to be him attempting to sweet talk her. "I don't remember seeing you with the rest of Jones's crew the other day."

"Pardon?"

"Yep, you were _definitely_ not there." He continued. "It might be, that he doesn't want you to know of his little…_diabolical plot_, eh?"

"Plot?" Michelle asked, she tried saying more, but Sparrow seemed to enjoy the limelight, in which no one else was paying attention to.

"I mean, you'd have to be a bloomin' idiot, to be a pirate and _not_ know of my debt to Jones, but there seems to be more to the whole shindig, than what you know." He smiled. "He might just be determined to take you as one of those hundred souls I need to harvest. Oh, lucky him! I'm free, and he gets his little sea witch all to himself, as well, as your darling, commodore!"

"What are talking about?" Michelle asked. "You're mad!" Sparrow grinned, and placed one of his greasy hands around her shoulder.

"Of course I am!" he announced. "After all, who am I?" Michelle stared at him, afraid to answer. His joyous expression fell. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Michelle nodded, partially from fear of his bewildering activity, and partially to just…get on his good side, of sorts. "Of course you are." She said. "And I'm…just going to leave now." And she backed off, leaving this man, she unfortunately, had to call her captain for the time being.

ooo

"What do you mean there's a warrant for my arrest?" Michelle asked Norrington later that night. "Is it listen in those Letters of Marque, Elizabeth has?"

"No." Norrington said. "Why else do you think half of Tortuga was trying to kill you? There were listings all over the city. There's about six thousand guineas out there for you, dead or alive."

Michelle laughed. "I never thought I'd hear that. What of my father? He's obviously a wanted man. What of his bounty?"

"He's the same, a lot of people, pirate and sailor, are after the both of you. Together, you're worth more than Jack. Many assume you're sailing with him, but the one's who call you the Dutchwoman, know otherwise, they're the one's who aren't bothering with trying to find you."

Michelle laughed, smiling to herself about being a wanted criminal. Never had she ever dreamed of such an experience. Norrington probably hadn't even thought of it either.

She recently discovered about a year earlier, Jack Sparrow was sentenced to the gallows after being caught by Norrington. He, Elizabeth and her fiancé soon after had warrants out for their arrests for having helped Sparrow escape his hanging. All four of them were fugitives of the law. Out of the four of them, there was to be only one pardon, and it was promised to Sparrow, and he would then be a privateer for the East India Trading Company. The other three were all searching for ways to be freed from the sentence of a hanging.

And now, Michelle found herself among the lot. However, instead of the British Navy after her, bounty hunters of sorts were targeting her. It was truly an unsettling notion. For all she knew, Michelle could clean her face up a bit, walk into Port Royal, and she wouldn't be suspected of an ounce of piracy. That is, as long as there wasn't anyone who recognized her. As far as she knew, if she was caught by _anyone_, pirate or not, she'd be sentenced to death almost instantly.

ooo

"Do you have any idea where your fiancé is?" Michelle asked Elizabeth at around dawn the next morning. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Jack said he's been sworn into the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_." She sighed. "But, knowing Jack, it's probably just a lie."

"I-is he dead?" Michelle asked uneasily. "B-because, if he's not, he'll be able to get away."

"Of course you know." Elizabeth said. "Jack's told us all. You're from the _Flying Dutchman_." She smiled. "But you wouldn't do anything to trade us over to them, would you?"

"Not at all." Michelle said. "That is…unless I'm ordered to." She knew that Sparrow knew of her loyalties to the _Dutchman,_ as did Norrington, but now that the entire crew knew, she felt a little less secure. Although, it didn't bother her knowing of the crews knowledge of this, in fact, it made her feel a bit better. She could possibly use it to her advantage if she needed to. "You know then, that my loyalties only lie there until my father pays his debt, right?"

"I didn't." Elizabeth confessed. "Jack probably did, and he just _purposely_ failed to mention it."

"It's a captain thing." Michelle said. "Jones does that on the _Dutchman_, he'll leave out parts of the conversation, just to keep us on our toes."

Even thought she knew she could use her belonging to the _Dutchman_ as a threat, it didn't feel right. Very few crewmen probably trusted her now. But she had a bond with Elizabeth, a bond that sort of said that the both of them were doing something wrong, to achieve a better outcome for the common good.

"You don't have to go back." Elizabeth said, as a breeze blew over the deck, causing her and Michelle's hair to sway in the wind. "That's how pirates work, one day they have one captain, the next, they've betrayed them, and joined another crew."

"You have a point." Michelle muttered. "Jones never _did_ tell me why I needed to be here." A smile spread across her face as she looked at Elizabeth. "I am a pirate after all, aren't I?" The two girls laughed, knowing full well, that even if they denied it, they were both pirates, and there was no turning back.

There was almost a sense of an Anne and Mary relationship between the two girls. Female pirates were rare, but when they were found, they were fierce, even more so than the men.

ooo

Cries of spotted land, only one longboat was pulled down, for Sparrow, Norrington, Elizabeth, the pirate with the wooden eye, named Ragetti, and his partner Pintel. Michelle protested on how she had a right to go with them. She knew the island, she had seen it while aboard the _Dutchman_.

After enough annoyance, Sparrow gave in, and made room for her to join them, even though he said, like he had many times before: his dirt was enough protection. Michelle still had no idea what he meant.


	15. With the Winning Side

**My apologies, again, for the lack of updates. Busy week. I tried to make this chapter relatively entertaining, though:D Oh, and thanks everyone for the 4,000+ hits! It's really appreciated. I'd just like to say: If anyone would like to draw Michelle, I'd love it! Just keep in mind she has dark blonde hair. (One of my friends said they see her with black :B) So everyone knows, on Friday, I am leaving for a four day trip to Maine for an anime, movie and gaming convention. I'll try to write some stuff for all of you to enjoy for the time being. I also have a twist on those "Modern People in POTC era fics" It's about Jack and his immortality fetish…and Barbossa's great-great-great-grand niece…And it takes place in the 1980s…expect bad hair and synth music and a very confused Jack Sparrow. It's not a parody though. :D (For any of you that care: I'm doing better now since my boyfriend breaking up thing o3o) I'm also going to make this official, this story is: DavyxOCxNorrington love triangle! I can't say all the details, but they'll be made clear near the end of the DMC portion! Shutting up now, and enjoy! --Anna P.S. NorringtonxMichelle stuff in the next chapter. :D**

Ch. 15

Of course, Michelle had been allowed to go ashore…however, following Sparrow, Elizabeth and Norrington to the directed spot, she had been refused. There she sat, at the edge of the longboat, watching the pirates Pintel and Ragetti do mildly impressive tasks with shovels. Entertaining as it might have been, it wasn't what Michelle was planning on doing for the time.

Michelle's attention turned out to open sea, all was calm, aside from the various men she could see hustling about on the _Black Pearl_. They were just small dots from here, but Michelle could tell that the people aboard were men. She dug the toes of her boots into the sand as she watched the equally as small dots of Sparrow, Elizabeth and Norrington get closer to the horizon.

Yes, she had seen the island before. It was sacred to the crew of the _Dutchman_. It was the island in which Davy Jones stored his heart. It was kept within a small chest, within a larger one with countless letters and gifts he shared with Calypso when the two of them had been together. Her heart yearned a bit for her Captain, and his pains, and his grievances…and his heartache.

She froze, finding herself thinking so much about Davy Jones. An awkward sensation of desire for him…A bizarre thought to her. Her hand sat upon her chest, as she tried thinking of Norrington, who she knew she loved…but perhaps now, knowing that she was finally closer to her Captain's heart, it might be different. Michelle shook her head, avoiding the entire thought. However, as she stared out into the ocean, she saw the approaching silhouette of her home ship. A smile slid across her face, knowing that Sparrow had little to no idea that the _Dutchman _was present. She glanced over at Pintel and Ragetti, who had just noticed the ship's presence. After a second of staring, the _Dutchman_ dove beneath the water, causing the two pirates to scurry off.

For a brief minute, Michelle laughed at the two moronic pirates, before realizing that her idle position might not be the best idea. She swore a bit, and sprinted after the two pirates, before finding herself within feet of Sparrow, Norrington…and another man, of whom she didn't recognize.

All three of the men had swords pointed at each other, seeming to be fighting over an ebony chest, situated in the sand. Her hand was placed lightly on the hilt of her sword, knowing, courtesy of a deep urge within herself, that it was the chest containing the heart of Davy Jones. Jones was her captain, and her loyalties truly laid with him. He was the man who helped her realize that she wasn't like a dainty, little princess. If she wanted to prove her loyalty to him, she might want to do it this way: retrieving the heart from these other three men, all wishing to obtain it for their own personal reasons.

The three men's swords clashed together, all maneuvering so they were getting farther, and farther from the chest. Michelle yanked her sword from her scabbard, ready to dive for the chest. However, every time she began to approach the chest, she found herself distracted by the three men fighting one another. It was an interesting sight to see, each one of them striking at the other, almost as if it was choreographed. A part of her wanted to dash forward, and stand at the side of Norrington and fight along him, but she felt as if she would probably get in the way.

She ignored the men and dashed for the chest once more. Running for it, in the soft, and shifting sand, was a challenge, causing her speed to unfortunately decrease. Unlike these pirates, she wasn't as accustomed to fighting on land. Her hands reached out for the ebony chest, but found two extra pairs latching on to it, as she touched it.

Michelle, who had been half crouching as she reached for the chest, glanced upwards, standing, carrying the chest up with her. Standing before her were the two pirates, Pintel and Ragetti, who, to Michelle, screamed the idea of bumbling idiots. However, much to her dismay, the two pirates, were as clever as any.

She groaned, her head tilted back, rolling her eyes. "And why do _you_ two want it?" she asked. "We have Sparrow with his personal, selfish gain, that Turner boy and his father, James and honor, me with…my own reasons, and you two! Why you?"

"God ordered us." Ragetti said, laughing and smiling a bit as he pointed to the sky with one hand. Michelle followed, and being the fool she was, found the chest ripped from her hands. She groaned, and reached for a pistol at her side, but ignored temptation, and ran after the two, obviously not dim-witted pirates, her sword practically flailing about in the wind as she ran along the sandy, white beaches.

The scenery began to change slightly, as more and more vegetation became visible. Michelle was following the pirates Pintel and Ragetti into a tropical forest, the two men both had hold of the chest, as if it was the most valuable thing in the world…Well, perhaps it was. But even so, one false step could have had the chest flying from the hands.

There was a sudden halt to the movement, and almost directly ahead, was Elizabeth, with this smug 'oh-look-what-we've-got-here' sort of expression. It was obvious that she had been spending time with Jack Sparrow. She reached for a sword, but halted realizing hers was nowhere to be found. She smiled innocently at her realization. After Pintel said something slightly bizarre (to Michelle at least, something along the lines of "Ello poppet"), and the pirates pulling out their swords, an axe whizzed through the air and struck a tree.

Elizabeth, Pintel and Ragetti turned to see the commotion, all of them had a look of shock, and displeasure upon their tanned faces. Michelle however, had a smile of satisfaction. The crew of the _Dutchman_ was here, and this meant that things could have a turn for the better…In her scenario at least.

Michelle withdrew a bit, joining the men of the _Dutchman_, back where she belonged, but only enough to give the sign, she was siding with them. Yes, she had the opportunity to gain her freedom again, and stay on the _Black Pearl_, that's where the man she loved was. She had actually made a friend there, and despite her obvious conflicts with Sparrow, she relatively enjoyed it. But in the end, her alliances were with the _Dutchman_. This was the ship where she realized the person she really was, the place where she had learned not to take things for granted. This was this ship where she discovered that even the cruelest men, can have a breaking point.

She froze, finding herself not only with her sword against Elizabeth's, but thinking intently about Davy Jones.

"Why're you doing this?" Elizabeth asked, roughly. "I thought you were with us!"

"I'm not." Michelle growled, as their swords broke free momentarily before clashing again. "My heart may lie with the _Pearl_, but my alliances are no where near there." Elizabeth gave her a slightly baffled look. "And I will not let my Captain die at the hand of Jack Sparrow."

"Then why not at the hand of Will! Or James?" Elizabeth asked. "Their causes are worthier than Jack's!"

Their swords clashed again. "The Turner boy's father'll soon be taken by the ship, there's no hope in savin' him. As for James," She smiled a bit, almost in a twisted way. "In all honesty, I've never been more attracted to him, than as a drunken, mangy pirate!"

The loud clanging of Elizabeth and Michelle's swords, until Elizabeth had to toss her sword to one of the other pirates, seeing as there were only two swords among the three. Michelle had backed Elizabeth into a tree, her sword pointed at the young woman's face.

"I'll let you live." Michelle whispered darkly. "And after Jones sets his leviathan upon you, I'll put a good word in for you if you survive." She jammed the blade of her sword into the tree, causing Elizabeth to flinch. "Now run before I kill you."

Elizabeth ran off, joining Pintel and Ragetti in their sort of two-sword-to-three-people fight. Michelle trailed back a bit, finding herself next to Maccus.

"Maccus!" she called to him amongst the chaos. "What's the status aboard the _Dutchman_?"

He stopped, giving Michelle a double take. "What're ya doin' here?" he asked roughly, hesitating.

"I-I came with the _Pearl_." Michelle said, taken slightly aback. "Jones said I'd know when to leave Tortuga—"

"We were gonna send someone to get ya!" Maccus snapped. "Ya weren' s'posed ta leave the damn place!" Michelle stopped in her tracks, as the pirates continued to advance.

She had realized then, that she went against her Captain's orders. In the beginning, she would have done so, but now, now that she was loyal to Davy Jones, she found herself in complete pain. Michelle knew now, that going back, would cause her to endure a great punishment, and lashings were the least of her problem. Anita had once told her that women aboard the ship, who disobeyed the Captain had even more severe punishments. Michelle sheathed her sword, and collected herself.

For now, she might not be on the best side of Davy Jones for breaking a rule such as that, and possibly leaking to Sparrow and crew about some sort of plan. It was a time of hasty decisions, and so, it was back over to the side of the _Black Pearl_…For the time being.

Michelle resumed her position in the chase and followed the clamor and beaten down foliage of the crew of the _Dutchman_ and the three pirates of the _Pearl_. However, she was temporarily distracted by what appeared to be a giant wheel rolling past…with Norrington and the Turner boy fighting on top. Michelle laughed a bit, knowing something as this would make an astounding comedy back home.

The fight for the chest expanded on to the beach. It was a shame Michelle didn't get the burst of fighting she had been hoping for, but it was close enough. She unsheathed her sword once more, nevertheless, and brought it up whilst standing in ankle deep water,just in time to find it clashed against Sparrow's.

"Whose side'r you on now, love?" he asked smoothly. Michelle tried smacking him with her spare hand, but found it held still at the wrist, courtesey of Sparrow's hand.

"The winning side." She replied curtly, with a mocking smile. Fighting ceased for a moment, as the wheel in which Norrington and Turner had been fighting on rolled forward into the water, and toppled over, with a splash. After a few moments of regaining their balance, the two men started towards the long boat they arrived in. Turner was suddenly whacked over the head with one of the oars, knocking him out, and draping him over the side of boat.

Norrington found a place around the boat, next to Michelle, and it was then, that she noticed that they had possession of the chest. After a glance around the surrounding area, she concluded that the crew of the _Dutchman_ wasn't leaving unless the rest of them were dead. Michelle indicated to the chest, for Norrington, with almost a blank expression.

"We're not getting out of this." He said, almost depressingly. "Not with the chest." He retrieved the chest, and after a few, dashing, final words, he ran off. Michelle backed away from the boat, smiling at Sparrow.

"I told you." She laughed, running off, to join Norrington, the crew of the _Dutchman _following them both. "I'm with the winning side!"


End file.
